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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, % 



Chap. l.^Ay..^.^! 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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POEMS: 



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MISS CHARLOTTE ALLEN. 




BOSTON : 
PUBLISHED BY SAXTON & PEIRCE, 

No. T33 1-Q Washington Street. 

1841. 



'\^-^' 



CONTENTS. 



Introduction, . • • • • * ' * 

Improvement, 

The Charity Box, 

God is love, 

On hearing a bird singing on a grave, . . • .8 

The Slighted Gift, .10 

Soliloquy on Dreams, ^^ 

The Soldier's Grave, 1^ 

-Hope, ^^ 

Childhood, .....••• 1'' 
The Heart's Devotion, 18 

19 

Immortality, ^.a 

Change • • • * ^® 

Omnipresence of the Deity, . • * * ' 

To my Heart, • • • ' ^^ 

The Fading Flower, • • 23 

25 
A Midnight Scene, 

On a Little Girl's asking the Author if God would kiss her 

when she went to Heaven, ... 26 

27 
Stanzas, . , 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



Child weeping at a Grave-yard, 
To a Lady .... 
Life, 



28 

. 29 
31 

Mother and Son, • . 32 

Moonhght, 33 

Stanzas, 34 

Christmas 36 

Autumn, 37 

On the Death of a Little Girl, 39 

The Benighted Wanderers, 39 

To a Mosquito, 42 

On returning some Letters, 44 

Scepticism, 45 

To a Little Boy, .47 

The Day's Decline, 49 

On the Close of the Year, 50 

There is a Home, 51 

Mementos, . . . 52 

Stanzas, 53 

To a Friend on his Departure for another Clime in De- 
cember, 54 

To a Young Lady on the Eve of Marriage, . • 56 

Little Fanny, 57 

Stanzas, 59 

Twilight Musings, ....... 60 

The Sick Boy, 62 

The Baptism, ........ 63 

The Grave, ........ 66 

Stanzas, 67 

To a Rose Tree in Autumn, ..... 68 

Mother and Child, 69 

The Woodman's Cottage, 71 

There 's not a Flower, . ... . . . .72 



CONTENTS. V 

The Crucifixion, . , . . . . . . 74 

We '11 meet again, 75 

The Twins, 76 

Life's Vicissitudes, 77 

The Boys and their Boats, 79 

The Wanderer, 81 

The Farewell, 82 

Stanzas, 83 

The Dying Girl, ,.,.... 84 

On Life, . .85 

To a Little Girl, . , 86 

The Poet's Lot, . • 87 

Stanzas, 89 

Home, .... ..... 90 

Time, 92 

To a Friend on the Eve of Departure, . . . .93 

Autumn, 94 

To a Friend, 95 

Morning, 96 

The Last Request, 98 

Christ on the Waters, 101 

Stanzas, 102 

Death, 104 

Dirge, .104 

For an Album, . . . . . . . . 106 

The Tear, Sigh and Smile, . . . . . .107 

Stanzas, 108 

To a Lady, with a Bouquet, . r .... 109 

The Storm Spirit, .110 

Remembrance, 112 

Age, 113 

To an Infant Son of my Brother 114 

Memory Ug 

The Bird is Fre«, Hg 

f 



VI 



CONTENTS 



The Dying Babe, 118 

God, . .119 

Reflections in a Grave Yard, ..... 120 

Child at Prayer, 121 

The Author's adieu to Plymouth, 123 

Reflections on the Disaster of the Lexington, January 

13,1840, 124 

The Past, . . • . . . . , .127 

The Mermaid, 128 

Reply to a Questioner, 131 

For a Sunday School, 183 

For the Same, • 134 

Song of Death, 135 

A Thought, 136 

On the Death of Mrs. S. A. H., . . . . 137 

The First Yellow Leaf, 139 

On listening to the Laughter of Children, . . .141 
The Departure, 142 



INTRODUCTION. 



Go little book, and through the world, 
Unprefaced wend thy way ; 

And seek amid life's busy scenes, 
To breathe thy humble lay. 

It is' not with a wreath of fame, 

I seek to bind my brow ; 
Nor undeserved applause to gain, 

That I thus venture now. 

To cast before the public eye, 

The offerings of my muse, 
Which, though not faultless, fondly still 

Your approbation woos. 



Till INTRODUCTION. 

Paroassus' top I never gained, 

To win a metric race ; 
But am content to be allowed, 

To flutter ^round its base. 

I never yet have dipped my pen, 

In deep poetic lore ; 
But merely as a pastime sought, 

Its surface to explore. 

And now with many hopes and fears, 
I launch my little barque ; 

And trembling wait the world's opine, 
With the critic's cold remark. 



POEMS. 



"Whoever thinks a perfect piece to see, 
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, or e'er shall be."— Pope. 



IMPROVEMENT. 

Since learning spread o'er wide creation's plan, 
And mighty Genius owned a sire in man. 
From Science dawning to the present time^ 
In every age and every varied climes 
Lured on by power, by conquest and by fame, 
Man's noble spirit finds a well-earned name. 
We proudly trace in wond'rous works of art, 
The high aspirings of some skilful heart. 
I sing Improvement I She, whose magic hand, 
Spreads o'er the earth her fast increasing band ; 
And with a quenchless spirit, onward still, 
Yields to no power, and obeys no will, 
Save that alone which bids the yearning soul 
Spurn all oppression, shunning all control, 
1 



2 POEMS. 

'T is this that bids our innate feelings soar, 
Pleased with a little, but yet seeking more. 
A thirst unquenchable that fills the heart, 
Breathing progression in each whole and part. 
Trace but the efforts of the vig'rous mind, 
With happy skill and useful art combined. 
That now propels across the foamy sea, 
The rapid Steam-ship for the bold and free. 
Oh ! could our " Pilgrim Fathers" now appear, 
And see what great improvement 's making here, 
Well might they doubt the vision of their eyes. 
When such success on human efforts rise ! 
Well might they wonder at the progress made, 
Since they retired to their silent shade. 
Would they could look upon the changing scene. 
Improvement 's made : methinks they sure would 

deem, 
An " ignus fatuus," all the change they saw, 
A deviation from creation's law. 
But let it pass ; it is no idle tale, 
Or fancy's vision that we now inhale ! 
Where'er we cast our oft admiring eyes. 
We see improvement on improvement rise ; 
And from effect we learn to trace the cause, . 
And find the whole is based on Reason's laws. 
Far as the eye can roam, the form can go, 
There 's nought too great for intellect to know ! 



POEMS. 3 

And as advancing ages pass away, 
Progressive knowledge yet will bear the sway, 
And man pursue the wide extending track, 
Upward and onward still, but never back. 
And when with us earth's time shall be no more. 
When our light barque has reached its destined 

shore, 
Then will succeeding ages still pursue, 
Striking new tines our fingers never drew ; 
Age after age will be yet wiser still, 
As bright improvement doth each bosom fill. 
And we, in future years, could we but stand 
Where now we are, and view our favored land, 
We scarce could think it was the selfsame soot. 
Where Heaven once placed our own loved happy 

lot. 
How changed the scene ! (we might perhaps ex- 
claim ;) 
Was this our former home, is this the same ? 
The same indeed : but yet 'tis better still ; 
We see and feel Improvement's magic skill. 
That thus extends her empire o'er the earth. 
And claims no country for its own a birth. 
O'er every realm, unfettered as the air. 
Still will Improvement all its missions bear. 
And spread through every chme, from pole to pole, 



4< POEMS. 

The useful lessons on Improvement's scroll. 
When once inventedj man will still invent, 
And e'er obey his giant mind's intent. 
As from small seeds some mighty trees arise, 
So man projects, and wonders meet our eyes. 
Throughout the earth, till Time shall be no more. 
As long as billows leap from shore to shore, 
So shall Improvement's banner be unfurled. 
Spreading its influence o'er all the world ; 
Teaching mankind, though mortal they may be, 
The mind is destined for eternity. 



THE CHARITY BOX. 

It was the hush of day ; 
The " tired breezes " had ceased their sportiveness, 
And were resting from their busy office. 
With a hallowed stillness the air seemed tinged ; 
Not e'en a bee's soft murmur intruded 
On the silence ; the leaves hung motionless, 
While nature's gentle warblers sought repose. 
A soft and lovely pensiveness stole o'er 
vThe earth's bright surface ; while a drowsiness 
Had touched the flowers, for they bowed their heads 
Like worshippers before some holy shrine. 



POEMS. O 

So sacred was the hour I scarce dared breathe, 
Fearing to disturb what looked devotion 
On the page of nature. 

I had wandered far, 
And sought the village church-yard to indulge 
In sober thought, amid the moss-grown carved 
Memorials of departed loved ones. 
The church that stood upon that quiet spot, 
For many years had graced that rustic hamlet ; 
While Time's unsparing hand had rudely touched 
This venerable monument of days 
Long past, whose fallen state, proclaimed in 
Language mute but eloquent, that a 
Separation must, ere long, ensue. 

Beside that Church's porch, 
A little box was placed, strongly appealing 
To the hearts of all who passed that way, — 
For Charity ; which none could help perceive. 
Save those who wilfully were blind ; and it 
Was deemed a stain upon the hearts of those 
Who passed it by unnoticed. 

I had marked 
A bright-eyed boy, who though alone, had pleased 
Himself in gathering wild flowers, that bloomed in 
Rich luxuriance o'er that hallowed place ; 



b POEMS. 

And now he turned to go, but paused as he 

Approached that sacred edifice where oft 

He entered : his hand was thrust within his 

Pocket, seeking an offering for the 

Box that stood before him : he seemed ashamed 

To leave the spot, till he had testified, 

Though with an humble pittance, his generous 

Feelings ; reaching the small receptacle, • 

He dropped a penny in ; 't was all he had ; 

Though only one, it was given in all 

The full and fervent purity of his 

Young heart ; and his offering in the sight 

Of Heaven was as acceptable as 

If 't were thousands. 

Anon there passed along 
My path, a poor and aged widow, who 
Had come, as Was her daily wont, to drop 
Her soul's pure tribute o'er her husband's grave. 
Tears are all the gems the poor possess, and 
She was rich in their abundance ; she too 
Approached the box, and left the " widow's mite.'' 
Again the gate turned on its hinges, and 
There entered one of proud and lofty mien, 
Whose garb methought bespoke a well filled purse. 
From those who had preceded him, I judged 
That he would leave a noble gift : but he 



POEMS. 

Passed by unfeelingly, as did the Levite 

The poor wounded man upon the road-side. 

Musing upon the strange events of life, 

The different grades of feeling in the 

Human breast, I turned and left the grave-yard, 

Wiser, and I trust better, than when I 

Entered. 



«GOD IS LOVE." 



We read it on the brow of Heaven, 

We hear it in the breeze. 
We see it in the morning dew, 

That sparkles on the trees, 

'T is written on each budding plant, 

'Tis traced in every flower, 
We feel it in the Sun's bright beams, 
^ And in the genial shower. 

We read it on the ocean wave, 

In every gem above, 
All nature bears the impress strong, 

That tells us, '^ God is Love." 



8 POEMS. 

'T is borne upon the midnight air, 
The moon-beams breathe the sound, 

The little brook that murmurs by 
In solitude profound, 

In happy unison unite, 
And sing one joyous song ; 

The " universal law of love," 
To all alike belong. 

It moves unseen in every breast, 
With influence from above ; 

We feel and own the hidden power 
That whispei-s — " God is Love." 



ON HEARING A LITTLE BIRD AT TWI- 
LIGHT SINGING ON A GRAVE. 

Say, lovely warbler, dost thou know 
The sacred dust that hes below 

That little mound ? 
Thou dweller of the airy deep, 
Why dost thou come to sing and weep 

On hallowed ground ? 



POEMS. 

What doth inspire thy gentle breast, 
When hght scarce lingers in the west, 

To rest thee there ~^ 
Is 't inspiration from above, 
Teaching thy voice to sing of love, 

And breathe thy prayer ? 

Perhaps a friend who watched thy nest. 
When truant school-boys were in quest 

Of thy young brood. 
Now slumbers in that silent grave, 
Where fresh wild flowers so sweetly wave 

In solitude. 

And thou dear bird hast come to bring 
Thy pure and holy offering 

To friendship's shrine ; 
But the unconscious form below, 
Of thy rich incense ne'er can know ; 

Would it were mine. 

'T were sweet in thee to shun the day, 
And come at twilight hour to pay 

Thy homage here ; 
No mate was near, thou cam'st alone ; 
All other birds to rest had flown. 

Not one to cheer. 



10 POEMS. 

I watched with rapture, listened long, 
And fondly wished thee to prolong 

Thy liquid notes ; 
Thy requiem o'er, thou winged thy flight, 
And vanished in the gathering night, 

Where ether floats. 

Oh, wilt thou come again, sweet bird, 
And let thy mellowed voice be heard 

At twihght dim. 
Upon that humble grassy mound, 
Tuning thy silver notes to sound 

Thy evening hymn ? 



THE SLIGHTED GIFT. 

I had a little fresh blown Rose, 
One bud beside it grew. 

The pale Syringa with it twined, 
A sweetened fragrance threw. 

A sprig of myrtle I had culled 
To grace the small boquet, 

Then gently tied a ribbon round, 
As I pursued my way. 



POEMS. *^ 



I met a friend and offered her 
These gems from nature's breast, 

She took them with a heartless smile, 
A moment them caressed. 

I saw my gift was lightly prized, 

And trembled for its fate ; 
She coldly twirled them in her hand. 

My fears did not abate. 

— One moment more — the nosegay lay 
Despoiled upon the ground ; 

My cherished flowers were torn apart, 
Their leaves all strewn around. 

Oh, if not for the giver's sake 
The offering thou didst prize, 

Say, could it have no stronger claim 
Upon thy heart, thine eyes ? 

Who formed the httle flowers 1 gave, 
And called them into birth. 

Investing them with fragrancy. 
Was it some hand on earth ? 



12 POEMS. 

Oh, no, thy Maker's sacred power, 
My humble offering wrought, 

And love for thy Creator's works 
More reverence should have taught. 

I never gaze upon a flower, 

The smallest that I see, 
But seems to whisper to my heart 

I came from Deity. 



SOLILOQUY ON DREAMS. 

'T was but a dream ; 
I would there were no dreams, for 't is painful 
When awaked, to find them mere delusion, 
After the senses have been revelling 
In elysian scenes, where all seemed wrapt in 
Sweet reality, a happy prelude 
To more perfect bliss. 

Who hath not dreamed ? 
And when the witching spell was broke that 
Bound the soul in its enchanting fetters 
Sighed, nay, almost wept to find what looked so 
Real, was but illusion, cheating the 
Mind's brifrht vision. 



P O E M S b 13 

Dreams are mental meteors, 
Of the fitful brain, flashing athwart its 
Ever busy surface, when reason sleeps. 
And is this wond'rous working of the mind 
Influenced by external circumstance ? 
When touched with Morpheus' wandj a change 

comes 
Over us, and we gently pass from cold 
Reality, to the strange but pleasing 
Phantasies of ideality ; and 
Ofttimes, what most enchains the mind in 
Waking hours, leaves its lurking place when sleep 
Approaches, yielding its thrane to scenes and 
Beings that we scarcely dared to think of 
When awake, fearing to indulge the soul 
Too deeply in imagined pleasures, that 
Sober reason tells us, ne'er will occur, 
However much desired. 

The intellect 
Brooks no control ; free as the mountain air 
'T is ever on the wing, seeking something 
New-, felt, but undefined, as on it wends 
Its trackless way, viewing with double ken 
The airy phantoms, that in the mental 
Atmosphere have their existence. 



14 P O E xM S . 

Can mind 
Be chained ? can we concentrate ideas 
Into one focus, and there confine them — - 
To please our fancy ? will they not escape 
From thraldom, bidding defiance to our 
Feeble efforts to restrain them ? Ofttimes 
When we deemed the roving thought was fairly 
Caught and fastened, and we were prepared 
To have a feast of thinking, a banquet of 
The soul, ere we could wink, 't was gone, flying 
Through boundless space. 

There are those who hold much 
Faith in dreams, and deem them ominous of 
Good or ill, according to the hue they 
Wear ; for myself, 1 have no faith in 
Aught on earth : and though I deal in flights of 
Fancy, and revel in ecstatic realms 
Of fondest imagery, where airy sprites 
And fairy elves extend their witching charms 
To tempt us mortals from the plain pathway 
Of real life, yet, I would not always 
Dwell 'mid those bright bowers, but inhale 
The changing elements of this world's facts : 
Bitter with the sweet, thorns with the flowers. 
And clouds and sunshine mingled with the 
showers. 



POEMS. 15 



THE SOLDIER'S GRAVE. 

They dug him a grave on the mountain's breast, 

'Neath the shade of an old oak tree, 
And there the Soldier was laid to rest, 

From life's changes and turmoils free. 
He had fought jn the field with bold and brave, 

And many a laurel had won ; 
His victories o'er — the quiet grave 

Now tells that his duties are done. 

No tear was there shed o'er the sacred spot. 

For strangers only were round him ; 
Yet many may envy the Soldier's lot, 

For no earthly ties there bound him. 
He came from a clime beyond the broad deep ; 

His sorrows and joys were his own ; 
He told not his griefs, but he often would weep 

When he fancied himself alone. 

Thou 'rt gone — poor man ! heaven rest thee now ; 

Thy heart-strings have ceased their aching ; 
Thy palsied eyes and thy whitened brow, 

Will know no more earthly waking. 



16 



POEMS 



Peace — peace to thy ashes ! the Soldier's grave 
Should be moistened with soldiers' tears ; 

Methinks the wise, the good and the brave, 
Should hallow the Soldier's years. 



\ HOPE. 



Hope is a star of radiant light 

That cheers the wanderer's way, 
Making the darkest hours seem bright 

With its immortal ray. 
Hope is an anchor of the soul, 

That bids us rest on God ; 
It leads us to that distant goal, 

Beyond the earth's cold sod. 

Hope points to Heaven ; and bids us there 

Have all our treasures rest ; 
It calms the mind from worldly care, 

And soothes the troubled breast. 
Hope is a plant of birth celestial, 

Its native home is in the skies ; 
And though it blooms on earth terrestrial, 

The sweet exotic never dies. 



POEMS. 17 

'T is Hope that gilds life's rugged way, 

And throws a charm around ; 
A friend that ever near doth stay, 

Within our breast 't is found, 
Hope thou in God, have hope in heaven, 

Have hope beyond this sphere, 
And in thy life's last-fading even, 

Thy Maker will be near. 



CHILDHOOD. 



Dear moments of childhood ! how swiftly ye flew, 

No effort of mine can restore thee ; 
In silence ye breathed an eternal adieu. 

And with painful regret we deplore thee. 

The still stream of time is rapidly flowing. 

Our juvenile hours are past, 
And ^youth's gay dreams, with their warm tints 
glowing. 

But a few brief hours can last. 

The illusions of life are fleeting away, 
Our journey will soon be o'er^ 

2 



18 POEMS. 

The sand of existence from day to day, 
Flows on to eternity's shore. 

On ! on we are borne through the channel of Time, 

To the deep futurity's ocean ; 
To a haven of bliss, to a sunny clime, 

To a world of joyful emotion. 



THE HEART'S DEVOTION. 

'T is not alone within the sacred donie. 

Reared by man's hands, that homage should be 
paid 

To Him who sits on the Eternal Throne, 
That by no human genius e'er was made. 

But there 's a temple 'neath the smiling skies, 
A sacred altar 'neath yon starry sphere ; 

And there our deepest gratitude should rise. 
Seeking an access to our Father's ear. 

In the wide fields, or in the shady wood, 
In days bright sunshine, or at evening dim, 



POEMS. 19 

Beneath the arch of Heaven, in soUtude, 

There, should we breathe our prayer and ves- 
per hymn. 

And there 's an Altar, the domestic hearth, 
'Round which to daily congregate, in prayer, 
Would summon all our purest feelings forth, 
And earth would more a hallowed radiance wear. 

Is there no other altar we can find, 

A constant offering on the shrine to raise j 

No innate power our feelings there to bind. 
And teach our heart to sing our Maker's praise 

Within our breasts we feel another fane, 

From whence the incense of our warmest love 

Should isssue forth free from all earthly stain, 
To God our Father, in the realms above. 



IMMORTALITY. 



There blooms in every human breast, 

An amaranthine flower. 
That cheers us on our pilgrimage, 

However dark the hour. 



20 POEMS. 

And through the varied scenes of life, 
That flower doth never fade, 

But hves 'mid earthly joys and ills, 
In sunshine and in shade. 

It springs spontaneous in each soul, 

Whate'er its lot may be ; 
It is the ever glorious hope 

Of Immortality. 
We give up life, resign our friends, 

Though sad the parting be, 
Yet none would ever yield the hope 

Of Immortality. 



CHANGE. 

I saw thee in thy early daySj 

When life with thee was bright, 
And not a shadow dimmed the rays 

Of thy spirit's joyous light. 
I knew thee in the pride of health, 

With pleasure in thy heart ! 
A child of Fortune's dazzling w^ealth, 

Free from deception's art. 



POEMS. 21 

No cloud had passed athwart thy brow, 

Thy young heart knew no grief; 
A favorite of all wert thou, 

But thy brilliant course was brief. 
A change came o'er thee ; and thy soul 

Bent 'neath the heavy stroke : 
Thou hadst not reached thy destined goal. 

Ere thy buoyant spirits broke. 

Thy fortune scattered to the wind, 

On disappointment's wings, 
Left not a single wreck behind 

Some httle joy to bring. 
In that dark hour when sorrows prest 

Upon thy bleeding heart, 
When thy fond soul in grief was drest, 

Did friendship act its part ? 

Friendship and Fortune blended are 

With an unbroken chain ; 
A heartless and a fickle pair, 

Too often yield but pain. 
And when adversity had prest 

Around thy pathway here. 
Friendship no longer soothed thy breast, 

But left thee lone and drear. 



22 POEMS. 



OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY. 

Visit the earth's remotest bound, 

Or seek the rocky cave j 
Walk o'er the desert's steril ground, 

Go to the silent grave ; 
Go to the forest's deepest glen, 

Go to the wild beast's lair, 
Or where no mortal foot hath been, 

Thy Maker will be there. 

Whether upon the briny deep, 

Or where the savage trod. 
Where'er thou art, awake, asleep. 

There is thy Maker — God. 
Amid the silence of the night. 

While darkness spreads around. 
Though wisely veiled from human sight. 

There, is thy Maker found. 

The mountains, rocks and tow'ring trees, 

The green and flowery sod, 
The wild winds roar, the swelling seas, 

All tell alike of God. 



POEMS. 



TO MY HEART. 



23 



Cease, little flutterer, cease thy motion, 

All thy pains will soon be o'er ! 
Soon thou 'It leave life's billowy ocean, 

And regain a happier shore : 
Where no storms will e'er assail thee, 

Where thy achings all will cease ; 
Where no painful pangs can reach thee, 

There, my heart, thou 'It rest in peace. 

When released from sorrow's feeling, 

When thy chords have ceased to beat, 
May you find a happier dwelling, 

Where fond hearts in union meet. 
While this mortal frame enshrines thee. 

Pain will ever be thy lot ; 
Then go, be blest, where smiles await thee, 

And all thy errors find a blot. 



THE FADING FLOWER. 

A mother gazed on her beauteous boy. 
And smoothed back his golden hair. 



24 POEMS. 

As weeping she kissed his palUd brow, 
For the hand of death was there. 

Disease now prey'd on that youthful form, 
And dimmed his once sparkling eye, 

The roseate morning of life was chilled, 
His pulses, all prostrate lie. 

He felt that his earthly course was brief; 

It damped not his spirits glow. 
To think thus young he must bid adieu 

To childhood's bright dreams below, 
It pained him to see his parent weep ; 

He knew that she wept for him ; 
He sought to sweeten her grievous cup, 

With sadness filled to the brim. 



Dear Mother, weep not, although so soon 

I shall pass away from earth, 
I go to a brighter realm above, 

The home of my spirit's birth. 
I feel that 't is hard to die so young, 

When life is both fresh and fair, 
I 'd like, to linger still longer here, 

And breathe the sweet-scented air. 



POEMS. 

But it cannot be, for God decrees, 

That we, dear Mother, must part — 
Then weep no more, but look to Him, 

To soothe thy sorrpwing heart. 
Though early we part forever here, 

I trust we shall meet again. 
In a realm of boundless love and peace, 

Of freedom from death and pain. 

The parent knew that his words were true, 
And she sought her sorrows to bear, 

As 'neath the all-seeing eye she bent, 
And yielded her soul to prayer. 



25 



A MIDNIGHT SCENE. 

Pale Cynthia was shedding a mild-beaming ray, 
O'er hamlet and village, o'er river and bay ; 
Scarce a sound was heard save the night-bird's low 
moan, 

And nought seemed in motion, 

Save the waves of the ocean, 
Emitting a deep, sullen, murmuring tone. 



26 



P OEM S. 



A Ship on the bright-sweUing surface was riding, 
Majestic she moved while rapidly gliding, 
Adown the wide stream with her sails all unfurled, 

While the gentle winds smiled, 

On the ocean's fair child, 
And the bright beams of Luna enlightened the 
world. 

' Twas midnight ! the hour to excite our devotion. 
And raise in each bosom a sacred emotion. 
While gazing with rapture on ocean and sky, 

With feelings adoringly, 

Aspiring imploringly, 
To regions celestial, to mansions on high. 



ON A LITTLE GIRL'S ASKING THE AUTHOR 

IF GOD WOULD "KISS HER WHEN SHE 

WENT TO HEAVEN." 

Say, little prattler, wouldst thou know 

The bliss that doth await 
Us wanderers of this world below, 

In yonder blissful state. 



POEMS. 

Thy loving heart did sweetly say, 
" Will God kiss me on high, 

If I will love him, and will pray 
Each day until I die ?" 

It is not for the human eye, 
Or mortal heart to scan, 

The secrets of the upper sky, 
So ^wisely veiled from man. 

Enough for us, dear girl, to feel 

There is a God above, 
Who doth to all his children deal, 

Impartial gifts of love. 

And we, if we obey him here, 
Shall taste in realms on high, 

Far from this little earthly sphere, 
Joys that can never die. 



27 



STANZAS. 



I love to think that when we die, 

When this, our mortal frame 's at rest, 



28 POEMS. 

The soul will soar beyond the sky, 
To hold communion with the blest. 

Our life is short, — 'tis very brief, 
Our journey 's quickly |3ast ; 

'Tis but a cup of joy and grief, 
A litde time to last. 

How soon the sand of life is sped ! 

How swift our moments fly : 
A few years past, and with the dead, 

Our fragile forms must lie. 
Then, let us bend our thoughts above, 

To that eternal state, 
Where all is goodness, all is love, 

And joys unfading wait. 



CHILD WEEPING AT A GRAVE-YARD. 

Dear child, why dost thou linger here, 

With such a look of grief ! 
Let me brush off that falling tear, 

And ofier some relief. 
Thy little breast is young, to feel 

Affliction's poignant dart ; 
Why doth the tear-drop silent steal ? 

What sorrow grieves thy heart ? 



POEMS. 29 

Art thou not cold, my little maid, 

And why this falling tear ? 
With half-choked voice, she sweetly said, 

" My Motherh buried here V 
Sweet Girl ! this tribute of thy love. 

Due to thy parent's worth, 
Is registered in realms above, 

Far from this grovelling earth. 

Although thy Mother sleeps in death, 

Beneath the earth's cold sod. 
Yet, with her last expiring breath, 

Her spirit rose to God. 
And when, dear child, thy hfe is o'er, 

May thy pure spirit meet 
Thy sainted Mother, on that shore, 

Where souls congenial beat. 



TO A LADY. 



Thou askest me but yesternight 
A httle Poem to indite, 

A keepsake thus to be ; 
That thou may'st look in after years, 
Upon the shrine that friendship rearSj 

To memory and to thee. 



30 POEMS. 

Could we but scan the Book of Fate^ 
And see what ills and joys await. 

Whilst journeying here below, 
We might not wish to linger long, 
Our cares and sorrows to prolong, 

Within this world of wo. 

Some think they have more ills than joys, 
That there is not an equal poise 

Between each joy and sorrow : 
Some ever look on shadow's side, 
Breathing despondence far and wide, 

As they their troubles borrow. 

For me, a brighter star I see, 
That shines upon my destiny, 

As I my path pursue ; 
Though clouds have sometimes hovered o'er 
I deal not in prophetic lore, 

But keep the bright in view. 

And as my onward path I trace, 
No passing cloud shall e'er efface 

The thoughts that burn within ; 
For he who gave the cup of life, 
Mixed it with sorrow, joy and strife, 

And filled it to the brim. 



POEMS. 

But for every hour of sadness, 
We have many more of gladness, 

Swelling in each heart : 
Then bid all discontent be gone, 
And let us breathe the fervent song, 

« Oh God 1 how good thou art ! ' 



31 



LIFE. 

What is our life ? 'T is like a flower 

We often see in bloom ; 
Expands, then dies in one short hour, 

And hastens to the tomb. 

'T is like a meteor in the sky, 

A momentary light ; 
'Tis like a rainbow seen on high, 

Soon to recede from sight. 

'T is like a wave on ocean's breast, 
That goes, we know not where ; 

Like fading sunbeams in the west, 
Not long to linger there. 

'T is like a dream — or like a night, 
'T will quickly pass away ; 



32 POEMS. 

But we shall wake to lasting light. 
In never-ending day. 



MOTHER AND SON. 

Come hither, come hither, my little boy, 
Thy Father's pride and thy mother's joy : 
Where hast thou been this long, long day ? 
Hast thou been away in the woods to play ? 
Say, where hast thou been these many hours, 
And where didst thou find those lovely flowers, 
That thou boldest there, with so much care ? 
Is it a gift for thy mother to wear ? 
Hast thou been to visit Dame Margaret's Cot ? 
To ask thee before I had quite forgot. 

Mother, dear Mother ! this whole day long, 

1 've passed at the cot where these flowers belong ; 

Believe me, dear mother, I 've not been to play 

For a single moment, this live-long day. 

I 've been as you say, to Dame Margaret's Cot; 

And though humble her station, I envy her lot. 

She has a contented, a happy mind, 

Which so seldom among the gay world we find. 

She is sick, very sick, confined to her bed, 



POEMS. 33 

And her eyes are sunk deep within her head ; 

She asked me to take her bible and read, 

For there she found much comfort, indeed. 

I then placed my seat beside her bed, 

And long 1 sat there, and to her read ; 

And she seemed so happy, so very much so, 

That I delayed my hour to go. 

And when, at last I left my chair, 

She asked me, if I would go to prayer. 

She asked me- so sweetly, I could not say nay. 

So I knelt beside her and attempted to pray. 

And when I arose from my humble state, 

She placed her hands on my little pate. 

And prayed that the bleesings of heaven might rest 

Forever upon her youthful guest. 

Aud as I passed her garden through, 

She bade me take some flowers to you. 

So here, dear mother, is a bunch of flowers, 

And your truant boy for so many hours. 



MOONLIGHT. 



The moon shines bright from her starry sphere, 
The winds are hushed and the sky is clear ; 
3 



34 POEMS. 

No sound is heard 'mid the glorious light, 

Save the last faint note of the fond ^^ good-night. ^^ 

All nature is still, not a breeze awake, 
To ruffle the bosom of the clear blue lake ; 
While the calm, cold ray of moonlight's glow, 
Spreads cheerily o'er the scene below. 

The sparkling gems from their airy height, 
Emit their rays both pure and bright ; 
But dearer than all, is the moonhght beam, 
Shedding its light o'er the curling stream. 

Shine, brighdy shine ! thou ray divine. 
The love of the world, mild orb, is thine ; 
Dear to my soul is thy placid hght. 
Yet, I must away, " good night — good night,'" 



STANZAS. 



Oh, I would die in Spring, 
When the earth's blossoming 

Breathes of another life : 
Then would I lay my hea(J, 
Within the green earth's bed, 

Free from vain care and strife. 



POEMS. 85 

Then will the sweet birds sing, 
Then will fresh flowers spring 

Over my humble grave. 
The soft and gentle breeze, 
Sighing among the trees, 

The requiem 1 crave. 

Though life hath many joys, 
They 're tinctured with alloys, 

To bid us look above : 
Fain would my spirit soar, 
And that great God adore, 

Of pure and boundless love^ 

Yes, I would die in Spring ; 
Then would my spirit wing 

Its unseen flio;ht on high : 
And at the day's pale close. 
Ere night its mantle throws. 

The time, I 'd hke to die. 

For twilight's pensive shades, 
The hour when daylight fades, 

Seems sweetest to depart ; 
There 's stillness in the air, 
Which, Zephyr-hke would bear 

Away my troubled heart. 



36 POEMS 



Or at the early dawn 

Of sweet and dewy mom, 

Gently to pass away, 
Like one whose thread is spun, 
Whose earthly course is done 

Forev^er and for aye. 



CHRISTMAS. 



Hail ! glorious day, that gave to earth, 

The Saviour of mankind ; 
The Star in the East announced his birth, 

The wise men came to find. 
That Star stood still o'er the solemn spot 

Where our Saviour's birth took place ; 
'T was an hour never to be forgot, 

Which memory will oft retrace. 

Jesus was born on earth ! but where ? 

Not on a downy bed ; 
Not in a house of gilded care, 

But — in a lowly shed. 
And this the annual natal day, . 

Of Christ the Lord of earth : 



POEMS. . SI 



His precepts may we all obey, 
And celebrate his birth. 

And as each passing season brings. 

In its revolving round, 
The birth-day of the King of Kings, 

May all our hearts abound 
With gratitude and purest love, 

To Him who dwells on high ; 
Whose throne, eternal, is above. 

Whose empire, earth, sea, sky. 



AUTUMN. 



Summer hath passed, and its sweets are gone, 
The lovely flowers and the bird's gay song : 
The once green leaves lie scattered and sere, 
The cold — cold earth is their funeral bier, 
While their dying requiem is hoarsely sung. 
By the Autumn breeze in the woods among. 
Not a vestige remains of the once gay scene, 
When nature was clothed in a robe of green, 
All things are stamped with the word decay ; 
All lovely scenes are fast passing away ; 
Not a flower is seen to glad the eye. 



38 POEMS. 

Though the sun still shines from yon blue sky. 
The wandering brooks are smoothly flowing, 
Though not with the gush of summer glowing. 
The stars yet shine, and the moon doth still 
Shed its mild light o'er valley and hill. 
But it beameth not o'er a verdant dale, 
O'er a grassy mount, or a flowery vale, 
For the face of earth wears a darksome hue, 
No opening blossoms now meet our view. 
Why do we love the frail things of this earth, 
Since all are transient, so frail their birth ? 
The summer will pass, and its sweets decay, 
And Autumn and winter will wear away, 
Yet Spring and Summer again will appear, 
And reviving nature our bosoms cheer. 
To us, frail mortals, the Spring of life past. 
It ne'er can return, 't was the first and the last ! 
Then, may we improve our time as it flies ; 
Lay up a treasure of worth in the skies. 
And let us e'er live, as knowing we must die, 
May we be prepared for mansions on high ; 
And when our Spring and Summer hath past, 
And the Autumn of life is fading fast, 
With a smile may we bid this world farewell. 
And sigh for the realms where the blessed dwell. 



POEMS. 39 



ON THE DEATH OF A LITTLK GIRL. 

The Angel of Death on his mission was sent, 

By a high and heavenly power, 
Though solemn his errand, 't was a holy intent, 

And sadness pervaded the hour. 

He came — and he paused as he bent o'er the form 
Of his lovely victim while sleeping, 

He lingered a moment, the life-blood warm 
Through the sufferer's veins was still creeping ; 

He breathed on the flower, and the spirit sped 
Away from the form that had bound it : 

His mission was done — the flower was dead, 
And the coldness of death around it. 



THE BENIGHTED WANDERERS. 

Loud moaned the wind, 't was a stormy night, 

And cold as heart could desire, 
As I hastily closed the blinds so tight, 
To shut from my view the cheerless sight, 
. And seated myself at the fire. 



40 POEMS. 

There, soberly musing over the past, 

Unmindful of all around, 
I listened anon, to the pitiless blast, 
That against the panes beat hard and fast. 

With such a wildering sound. 

Two hours had sped by the family clock, 

Since the storm continued to beat, 
When my ears were assailed with a violent knock, 
That threatened to burst the latch and the lock. 

And made me start from my seat. 

I ran to the door and opened it wide, 

When a sorry sight met my view, 
Of a wretched woman, while close by her side 
Stood a little boy, whose rags could not hide, 

His bare skin from peeping through. / . 

Kind friend, said the woman, while trembling with 
cold, » 

Please give us some victuals to eat, 
And though I can pay neither silver nor gold, 
Yet my heart, and that of the boy whom I hold, 

Will bless you with gratitude sweet. 



POEMS. 41 

1 bade them come in and freely stay, 
And warm themselves at the grate ; 

They had come a long and a weary way, 

Had not eat a mouthful all the day, 
And the hour was getting late. 

They were going, she said, to a distant friend, 

To learn of her husband's fate ; 
But the storm so raged, were obliged to bend 
Their steps to my door, to get me to lend 

Some help to their perishing state. 

A welcome I gave her to tarry all night. 

With her poor, little, weary child. 
And not venture forth, till the morning's light 
Had driven away the gloomy sight 

Of the ravaging storm on the wild. 

Poor woman ! her eyes were overflowing with 
tears. 

Her heart with sorrow was aching. 
She had tasted but few of life's short years. 
Which were deeply marked with hopes and fears, 

And the ties of the world seemed breaking. 



42 POEMS. 

Her blessing she gave me in saying " good night/^ 
With her little boy, knelt on the floor, 

And with their hands clasped, ('twas a lovely 
sight,) 

They poured forth a prayer, that poverty's blight 
Might never darken my door. 

The morning came in its joyous birth, 

The storm had quite passed away, 
All nature smiled in its silent mirth, 
A cloudless sky encircled the earth, 

To welcome the god of day. 

The mother and child, recruited with rest, 

Prepared their walk to pursue ; 
Then, with a ^'fareivell,^^ their hands I pressed, 
And prayed that the blessing of heaven might rest 

On the grateful hearts of the two. 



TO A MOSQUITO. 

Away, away thou little sprite, 
I 'm sure I never sought thee. 

And cannot tell this lovely night, 
What could have hither brought thee. 



POEMS. 43 

" Nothing is made in vain," they say ; 

Thy mission, who can tell ? 
I pray thee cease that buzzing lay, 

And seek some distant dell. 

'T is quite enough thy notes to hear 

While day proclaims its reign ; 
But, ah ! when evening shades appear, 

'T is misery, 'tis pain. 

Retired to rest, the light blown out, 

When silence, hps is sealing. 
While all is calm within, without, 

And sleep is gently stealing ; — 

Thou comes t softly to our side, 
A buz — buz — buz — we hear, 

But wo thy tiny form betide, 

Should'st thou approach too near. 

We raise the hand to chase away, 
We turn, and think thou 'rt gone ; 

Oh, sad mistake ! thou still doth stay, 
Singing thy vexing song. 

Had I the power, I 'd doom thy race 
To Afric's burning clime, 



44 POEMS. 

So I no more could see thy face, 
Or thou could'st rest on mine. 



ON RETURNING SOME LETTERS- 

Take back these little pledges, 
Thou gav'st in bye-gone years ; 

Calmly 1 resign them all, 

Though moistened with my tears. 

They breathe a tale of pleasure, 
Enjoyed at friendship's shrine ; 

Though they have gone forever, 
Remembrance still is mine. 

'T was in the roseate morning 

Of earlier, happier days, 
When life's unclouded sunshine. 

Breathed but of blissful lays ; — 

That we, these dear mementos 
Exchanired, with feelings pure, 

Believing that our friendship, 
Forever would endure. 



POEMS. 

But time has thrown a shadow 
O'er all those happy hours, 

And we have each discovered, 
Thorns, e'er will mix with flowers. 

Now, take them back, oh, take them. 
And when they 've left my sight, 

Then, then may 1 recover, 
My spirit's buoyant light. 

And though I now resign them, 

I will not mourn the past. 
While memory's beams shall gladden 

Those hours, too sweet to last. 



46 



SCEPTICISM. 



Oh, ye who doubt there is a God, 

Come forth with me and view 
The springing grass, the budding plant, 

The morning's sparkling dew. 
List to the soft wind's gentle breath, 

Inhale the fragrant breeze, 
With mellowed richness, sweet perfume 

Borne from the flow'ring trees. 



46 POEMS. 

Come view the little winding brook, 

A joyously it flows, 
Its verdant banks with flowers rife, 

A bright enchantment throws. 
Gaz on the ocean's wide expanse, 

And mark its bosom's rise, 
Hark to the murmur of the deep, 

As mournfully it sighs. 

Gaze on the brilliant orb of day. 

Enthroned in yon blue sky ; 
Then mark the gentle ^' queen of night." 

In majesty on high ; 
View all the sparkling gems so bright, 

On Heaven's arching brow ; 
Contemplate all, then ask thyself, 

Ain I insensate noiv 1 

Could all these wond'rous things appear 

Without Almighty Power ? 
*rhe changing seasons as they pass, 

Are they not full each hour 
With striking proofs there is a God, 

Who guides with wisdom's plan. 
All time, all change within this sphere^ 

Though wisely veiled from man ? 



P O E M S i 

Would such firm order be displayed 

Where'er our eyes we throw ^ 
If chance created everything 

Above, around, below ? 
Whate'er we see, or hear, or feelj 

In nature's wide domains, 
Proclaims aloud there is a God, . 

Who all our homage claims. 



47 



TO A LITTLE BOY. 

Sweet little child, widi thy laughing eyes^ 

And lofty brow so fair, 
In thy tiny form a treasure lies, 

That 's well deserving care. 
It is that magic thing, called mind. 

In embryo now in thee ; 
A few years hence, we '11 surely findj 

A valued gem 't will be. 

And may thy heart full well repay 

Thy parent's anxious toil ; 
For they will guide thee day by day, 

And plant thy mental soil. 



48 



POEMS 



For as thy infant years pass by, 
Then childhood follows fast ; 

And youth then hastens recklessly ; 
Stern manhood comes at last, — 

And hurries down the rapid stream 

Of Time, thy fragile form ; 
But may no clouds e'er intervene, 

To chill thy feelings warm. 
May all thy days on earth be blest 

With Heaven's protecting power ; 
May virtue dwell within thy breast, 

Religion be a flower — 

A never-fading flower to live 

In thy expanding soul ; 
Its heavenly influence to give 

A charm throughout the whole. 
And when thy little accents mild. 

Pours forth the fervent prayer. 
That God would keep a little child 
In his Almighty care : — 

Pray, Albert, for thy parents too, 
And humbly bend the knee ; 

Pray that their ills in life be few. 
For they have prayed for thee. 



POEMS 



THE DAY'S DECLINE. 

1 looked to the west, 

And the glorious sun 
Went calmly to restj 

For his journey was done* 
Not a cloud was seen 

In the deep blue sky, 
As twilight serene 

Spread its mantle on high. 

Bright Luna arose 

From her pearly bed. 
As the day's last close 

Around was spread. 
The evening star 

Appeared with its train, 
In those realms afar. 

At twilight's wane. 



49 



o 



No sound was heard. 
Save a rustling breeze. 

That lonely stirred 

Through the bending trees 

And the bird's last lay, 
As they warbled so sweet, 
4 



50 POEM s . 

A farewell to the day, 

Where the wild w^aters meet. 



ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 

Farewell ! farewell thou dying year, 

Thy race is nearly run ; 
A few brief moments linger here, 

And then thy journey 's done. 
No monument of marbled fame, 

Will mark thy swift career ; 
But thy calm moments, in their wane, 

Shall be remembered here. 

Like the winged arrow on its way. 

Thou leav'st no trace behind ; 
Or as the sun's declining ray. 

As the unfettered wind. 
And noiseless as the lightsome fall 

Of snow upon the earth, 
Thou mov^est along, regardless all 

Of sorrow or of mirth. 

There is no power, or charm below, 
Can check the course of Time ; 

It onward glides with gentle flow, 
In solitude sublime ; 



POEMS. 51 

And days and months so swiftly fly, 

And years so soon are past. 
That none of us can tell how nigh 

We may be to our last. 



THERE IS A HOME. 

There 's a calm for the wearied mind, 

A balm for the aching breast, 
A place where the troubled find 

A never-ending rest. 
There 's a home for the tempted soul, 

There 's peace for the wounded heart, 
Where eternal ages roll, 

Where sorrows have no part. 

There 's quiet for the child of grief. 
The outcast of hope forlorn ; 

A balsam of sweet relief. 

For the victim of misery and scorn. 

There 's rest where the homeless find 
Repose from life's weary dream, 

Where no rude buffeting wind, 

• Disturbs the hallowed scene. 



52 



POEMS. 

That repose is beyond the tomb, 

That home the reahns of the blest, 
Where celestial rays illume 

The joy-enlightened breast. 
There, is the Almighty's throne, 

There, sainted spirits meet 
Together in that sacred dome, 

Around His mercy seat. 



MEMENTOS. 



I love mementos, 
Though they 're fragile things ; for they speak oi 

joys 
Departed ; of absent friends, and happy 
Moments fled forever : and though I know 
These little " mementos of love" are frail, 
I can but love them ; true we cannot quite 
Forget old friends and former times, within 
Our memory's tablet they 're engraved ; years 
May pass on, time in his reckless course may 
Changes make, but from our mental store-house 
Ne'er can be removed the sweet remembrance 



POEMS. 53 

Of former friendship and of bye-gone 
Days. Mementos serve to strengthen in our 
Minds that sweet remembrance ; we love to look 
Upon a gift, even if 'tis trifling, 
Presented by some valued friend ; and 'tis 
Doubly dear, when perhaps the giver sleeps 
In death ; 't is not alone of joy's bright hours 
Mementos speak ; they tell alike of days 
Of sadness, and of hopes and fears ; all, all 
Are dear to mem'ry ; we would not forget 
E'en saddened moments, though melancholy 
May tinge the hour of retrospection. Like 
Some sepulchral lamp that casts its faint, but 
Hallowed lustre o'er the shrines of former 
Days, such are mementos ; the cherished types 
Of " auld lang syne." 



STANZAS. 



Ye may crush the flower that the summer rears3 
Or blast the rock that hath stood for years ; 
Ye may stem the ocean's raging breast. 
Or scale the loftiest mountain's crest ; 
Ye may check the river's rapid flow, 
Or dare the wild tornado's blow ; 



54 POEMS. 

Ye may hush the tiger's direful yell, 

Or the lion's fiery fury quell ; 

Ye may quench the light of passion's fire, 

And lay at rest each wild desire ; 

But you ne'er can extinguish affection's flame, 

'Twill live forever, through joy and through pain. 

The glow of health ye may bid depart, 
And sadden the stream of joy in the heart ; 
Ye may damp the liveliest spirit's flow. 
Oppress the mind with keenest wo ; 
Ye may dim the lustre of the eye. 
And tune the breast tosorrow's sigh ; 
Ye may deaden the pulse, and put to rest 
The stream of joy in the feeling breast ; 
Ye may cause all joyous things to be 
Lighter, far lighter than vanity. 
All this may be done, but you ne'er can sever 
The chain of affection ; never, oh, never ! 



TO A FRIEND ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR 
ANOTHER CLIME IN DECEMBER- 

Farewell, my friend ! the hour draws nigh 
For you and I to sever ; 



POEMS. ^^ 



Ambition bids thee bence to fly, 

But not, 1 trust, forever. 
'Neath foreign skies thou 'rt doomed to roam, 

And tread a distant clime ; 
'Mong stranger friends will be thy home, 

That never can be mine. 

Though other scenes may prove more fair, 

And other skies more clear, 
Yet strangers will thy friendship share, 

And win thy trusting ear. 
But think not, though in warmer climes. 

That friendship there is stronger ; 
Or deem that 'mid the clustering vines, 

That valued gem lives longer. 

Whether on Iceland's frozen ground. 

Or Georgia's verdant plain, 
Or where the savage wild is found. 

Friendship is still the same. 
Then fare thee well 1 the hour is near, 

That takes thee far away ; 
Thou goest with the waning year, 

Heaven speed -thee on thy way I 



o6 POEMS. 

Soft be the winds that bear thee hence, 

Gentle, the billows rise ; 
, Sound be the barque for thy defence, 

As o'er the waves it hies. 
Farewell ! may fortune smile on thee, 

In that far distant spot ; 
The only boon I crave from thee, 

Is not to be forgot. 



TO A YOUNG LADY ON THE EVE OF MAR- 
RIAGE. 

Permit a friend, at this momentous time. 
To offer her best wishes, (though in rhyme) ; 
May heaven be pleased to smile upon this hour, 
And may no clouds around thy pathway lower. 
V/hen 'neath the all-seeing eye of God you bow. 
And breathe before him that most solemn vow, 
When two fond souls, uniting, form but one. 
And the bright goal of happiness is won, 
Thine be the bliss all earthly sweets to share, 
That can be found in this cold world of care, 
Whilst journeying onward through this mundane 
sphere, 



POEMS. 57 

May joy's bright sunshine gild thy pathway here, 

Though thorns and flowers alternate we may meet, 

Be thine to crush the thorns beneath thy feet : 

May the pure stream of fond affection flow 

In one deep channel, with a fervent glow. 

If, as we hope, the spirits of the just, 

Look from their bright abode on us, but dust, 

O ! may thy friends, from yonder realms of light. 

Hover, unseen, around thy form to-night. 

And bless, with Heaven, this deeply solemn rite. 



LITTLE FANNY. 



Mother 1 (cried a little girl,) 

Why do you look so sad ? 
And you shed so many tears. 

While I, am always glad. 
I cannot think the reason 

You seem so dull of late ; 
Will you tell me, mother dear, 

Why is this gloomy stat e ? 
You know, my Fanny dearest, 

How hard I 've had to toil ; 
Day after day unceasing, 

And by the midnight oil : 



58 



POEMS. 

My strength is now declining, 

I feel my time is near 
For the last tie to sever, 

That binds my spirit here ; 
And this, the thought that grieves me, 

When you are left alone. 
Who will protect my orphan, 

And claim iliee as their own ? 

Weep not for me, dear mother, 

(The little prattler said) 
I shall soon be large enough 

To earn my daily bread ; 
And you have often told me. 

That God takes care of all ; 
And me He '11 not forget, 

Although 1 am so small. 

God bless thee ! little loved one, 

Oh ! may you be His care. 
Who watches all creation, 

E'en smallest birds of air. 
And when my last hour comes, 

That breaks affection's chain, 
Although I leave thee here. 

We 'II meet in Heaven again. 



POEMS. 



STANZAS. 



59 



They tell me that her cheek is pale, 
Her eyes have lost their brightness ; 

Her lips have not that ruby hue, 
Her spirit 's lost their lightness. 

Her brow wears not that sunny smile, 
Which shed a halo 'round her ; 

The clouds of sorrow have awhile 
In their embraces bound her. 

Oh ! may the grief that shrouds her mind 

Soon be dispelled forev. r ; 
And in the future, may she find 

Bright joys, unfading ever. 

But as we journey on life's way, 
We taste of joy and sorrow ; 

And though it be so dark to-dai/j 
It may be bright to-morrow. 



60 POEMS 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

Would I were on the "dark blue sea,'^ 

In some proud barque, triumphantly 

Careering o'er the ocean's breast, 

Like a lone bird in search of rest. 

Who that hath gazed upon the deep, 

When every billow seemed asleep, 

And watched the broad expanse of ocean, 

When scarce a zephyr was in motion, 

But what hath felt his pulses bound 

With rapture at the scene around ! 

I love the sea ! its foamy crest, • 

Its free and undulating breast, 

Its coral grots, its sun lit caves, 

Its wild and lofty swelling waves. 

Its mirrored surface in a calm. 

When its very quiet throws a charm 

Around the boundless, liquid scene, 

Not unlike a Poet's dream. 

The billow's dash I love to hear, 

It comes like music on my ear ; 

The swelling notes of the ocean's song. 

In pealing forth, grow loud and strong, 



POEMS. 



61 



Till they become a deafening roar, 

And send their sounds from shore to shore. 

Is there one of earth's own daughters, 

Who hath ever been upon the waters, 

Either in a storm or in a quiet, 

When the winds were asleep, or when they riot, 

But what hath felt admiring awe 

Expand her bosom at what she saw. 

'T is a glorious sight at dawn of day, 

When the dimpling waters sportive play, 

To view the sun in his splendor rise. 

From the ocean's depth to gild the skies. 

I love the sea I its misty spell, 

Its thousand charms that 'round it dwell. 

Oh ! who hath sailed upon the ocean, 

But what hath felt the heart's devotion, 

More deep, more strong, more ardent glow, 

When gazing round, above, below. 

'T is a holy thought to feel that He, 

Who created all the things which be, 

Should have a care of every soul, 

O'er all the globe, from pole to pole, 

That the little barque on the ocean's breast, 

Should be, with His watchful guidance blest 1 



62 



POEMS 



THE SICK BOY. 



Tranquil, upon a sofa lay, 

A Mother's darling son ; 
A lovely and a loving child, 

Her all, her only one. 
Sickness hath dimmed those little eyes,, 

And paled his infant brow. 
And childhood's buoyant spirits, all 

Before disease doth bow. 

His mother sits, with anxious care, 

Watching her cherished boy, 
And fervent praying heaven to bless 

Her litde earthly joy. 
She chides the tardy hours that pass, 

Urging their speedier flight, 
Her absent husband to restore 

To her adoring sight. 

Oh ! may it be the will of God, 

To spare her little flower, 
To flourish still, for many a year, 

In the parental bower. 



P O E M S . 

We cannot scan the future page 
Of Heaven's dark decree ; 

But may we be resigned to all, 
Though veiled in mystery. 



63 



THE BAPTISM. 



Upon the ocean's edge, 
There was a- gathering of many people, 
And a pensive hue had spread o'er every 
Face, waiting the observance of a rite 
Most sacred. 

The " Man of God" approached, and 
With him those who had given themselves to 
Jesus, and had come to taste- the solemn 
Ordinance of Baptism. 

The gifted prayer, 
Uniting with the water's music, in 
Holy euphony lingered on the air 
For one brief moment, and then ascended 
To the throne of grace. Heaven smiled upon 
The scene, and with that smile methinks there came 



64 POEMS. 

A blessing. In lofty aspirations, 
And I trust with pure and fervent feelings, 
The hymn arose with liquid melody, 
Mingled witii the breezes, gentle notes, and 
Onward and upward floating, again to 
"Earth returned not. ♦ 

Was there a heart among 
That crowd, which felt not stir within it, some 
Innate principle of holy thrill ? Who 
Could observe the interesting rite, and 
Within their soul feel no emotion, or 
Inhale no heaven-born rapture ? 

And now 
They walk within the breast of waters, and 
Their hearts enjoy the blissful feeling of 
A more close communion with the High and 
Holy Author of their spirits. As if 
The sun was the reflected countenance 
Of the Almighty, in humble reverence 
They turned their faces towards that glorious 
Orb, whose effulgent beams, o'er each brow cast 
An unearthly lustre, seeming to impart 
To each, a ray divine, a hallowed gem 
From a celestial casket. 



POEMS. SB 

If e'er the 
Spirit of the Lord descended from on 
High, methought I saw it then in holy 
Radiance, illumining the placid brow 
Of the officiator. 

Oh, may those souls 
Who have themselves now consecrated to 
The living God, e'er inhale from the pure 
Fountain of eternal life, exhaustless 
Streams of soul-sustaining food. 

The rite was 
O'er, the crowd dispersed, and where is now the 
Pleasant picture that in bold relief, but 
One short moment since had riveted our 
Eyes ? Gone ! all gone 1 and like the morning mist, 
Kissed by the rising sun, no trace remains 
To our external senses. 

But can it be 
That no impression lingers on our minds ? 
There, there alone are we to seek effects 
From outward causes, i trust that there were 
Many 'mong that throng, who deeply felt the 
Influence of that holy rite expand 
And purify their souls : and may the word 
Of God, falling like gentle dew from Heaven^ 
5 



66 



P O EMS. 



Upon their hearts, bring forth a rich and an 
Abundant harvest : " some thirty, sixty, 
And an hundred fold." 



THE GRAVE. 



Sad, lonely and chill is the silent grave 

And dark is the lonely tomb ; 
The tall grass around doth mournfully wave, 

And wild flowers neglectedly bloom. 

The turf may be fresh, and perfumed the air. 
The flowers in rich colors be drest, 

But what recks it all, to the form that lies there, 
'Neath the green sward, calmly at rest. 

He hath acted his part on the world's wide stage, 
He hath tasted affliction's stream ; 

His name is engraved on adversity's page, 
For dark was his life's short dream. 

Though sad disappointment had marked his way, 

And full was his cup of sorrow, 
Yet, he peacefully rests where thousands lay, 

To " wake not again on the morrow." 



POEMS. 67 

He hath paid his last debt, and breath 'd his last sigh, 

His manes repose in earth ; 
But his spirit hath soared to yonder sky, 

The chmo that gave him birth. 



STANZAS. 



Go count the stars in yon bright sky, 
The sands upon the shore ; 

You '11 find the blessings from on high, 
In number are much more. 

Count all the leaves upon the trees. 

The waves upon the sea ; 
More numerous still than all of these ^ 

Our daily gifts will be. 

And yet, ungrateful that we are, 

We seemingly forget, 
To whom we owe our constant care, 

Our great, increasing debt. 

To Him, who sits enthroned above, 
Our grateful incense raise ; 

And though unseen in worlds of love. 
He '11 hear our humble praise. 



68 



POEMS. 

TO A ROSE TREE IN AUTUMN. 

Sweet, fragrant, blushing rose, 
The fairest flower that blows, 

Thou soon wilt fade ; 
Thou 'It live thy little hour. 
To grace a wintry bower, 

Then lov/ be laid. 

The brightest flowers must die. 
The greenest leaves will lie, 

Low on the ground ; 
For autumn winds that blow, 
Will bend their branches low, 

On earth's cold mound. 

But when young Spring is seen, 
Arrayed in garb of green, 

They '11 rise once more, 
And live another life, 
With buds and flowers rife, 

A charming store. 

Not so with mortal man, 
Whose life is but a span, 

Can Spring return ; 
He lives but one short life. 
That 's marked with care and strife, 

But lives to learn. 



POEMS. 



69 



MOTHER AND CHILD- 

Mother ! who made that glorious sky, 

And all those stars we see so high ; 

And the brilliant sun that shines so bright, 

And the moon that gives such a mellowed light, 

Can you tell me who made those beautiful things ? 

I would visit them all if I had wings. 

The same, my child, who made you and me, 
Formed all those lovely things you see ; 
'T is that Great Being who dwells abov^, 
The God of mercy, the God of love. 
His watchful eye is over us all. 
And He marks even the sparrow's fall ; 
There 's not a thing we can say or do. 
That ever escapes His holy view. 

Did the same, dear Mother, who made the earth. 

Give to all living things their birth ? 

Did He make all those lovely flowers, 

And doth He command the rain when it showers ? 



70 POEMS. 

Doth God create that gentle breeze, 
Sporting unseen among the trees ? 
If He created all things that we see, 
How good and how great that God must be. 

Oh ! yes, dear child, God made the whole, 
And gave to each mortal frame, a soul ; 
And when we die, as truly we must. 
And our bodies return to their kindred dust. 
The soul will ascend to those mansions on high. 
For the spirit 's immortal and never can die. 
And oh, may it be thy constant care. 
This important truth in thy mind to bear. 
That brief is our stay in this earthly sphere, 
And all is fleeting and transient here ; 
So place thy hopes above this earth, 
In that better land of thy spirit's birth ; 
And when thy parting hour draws near, 
May'st thou meet it firmly, without a fear ; 
For God, who caused all these things to be, 
Will ever be present to watch over thee ; 
And when thy body is laid 'neath the sod, 
Thy spirit, dear child, will be with its God. 



POEMS. 71 

THE WOODMAN'S COTTAGE. 

Beside the lake, a Cottage stood, 

Of humble, rustic mien ; 
While far around, a thickly wood 

Bounded the forest scene. ' 
Beneath that lowly roof there dwelt 

A woodman and his wife • 
To whom kind Providence had dealt 

The sweets of human life. 

A little farm he tilled with care, 

Which well repaid his toil ; 
Content made sweet his humble fare, 

Culled from his rural soil. 
His fond wife shared with him the sweets, 

Of dear domestic joy ; 
The centre where all pleasure meets. 

And nought should e'er destroy. 

One little boy, a Father's pride. 

Was all the pledge they had ; 
And more to them, than the world beside. 

Was this joyous hearted lad. 
And when their daily toil was o'er. 

And the sun had sought the west, 
When twilight on the sea and shore, 

In darkening hues was drest ; 



72 



POEMS. 

The matron on the sanded floor, 

Then placed her httle stand, 
And with a meek eyed spirit bore 

The Bible in her hand ; 
Her husband read in accents fair. 

From the inspired page ; 
And then breathed forth the fervent prayer, 

For all, in " every age." 



Before his father's knees then knelt 

In prayer, their little boy ; 
A parent's love was all he felt, 

'T was all his earthly joy. 
Thus hved the woodman and his wife, 

Within their humble cot ; 
• And truly theirs was a happy life, 

Contentment marked their lot. 



THERE 'S NOT A FLOWER. 

There 's not a flower that ever grew 

On mountain or in vale. 
And not a stream that meets our view, 

In woodland, field or dale, 



POEMS. ' 

But what bespeaks Almighty power, 
And shows the wond'rous care 

Our Father hath for every thing 
On earth, in sea, and air. 

There 's not a wave on ocean's breast, 

But His command obeys ; 
'Tis He alone can hush the storm. 

And He the tempest stays. 
There 's not a star in yon bright sphere. 

Can shed its glittering beam, 
Without the powerful aid of Him, 

From whom our blessings teem. 

Where'er we cast our wondering eye, 

Around this mundane sphere, 
We view the marvellous works of God, 

And feel that he is here. 
The great, unseen, pervading power, 

Is felt in every place ; 
In light and darkness, earth and sea, 

His mighty works we trace. 



73 



74 POEMS 



THE CRUCIFIXION. 

The sun was veiled in darkest night, 

The earth groaned out aloud ; 
All nature felt the insult done, 

And to Its centre bowed. 
The firmest rocks were rent in twain 

The graves gave up their dead, 
And many saints that slept arose 

From their deep and quiet bed. 



A darkness spread o'er all the earth, 

A total silence came, 
"When Jesus to the Cross was led. 

To suffer bitter pain. 
His hands and feet they firmly nailed ; 

A spear thrust in His side. 
While foes surround their victim's Cross, 

And all His pains deride. 

Upon His meek and holy head, 
A crown of thorns they placed, 

A cup of vinegar and gall. 
They offered to his taste. 



POEMS. 75 

They bowed the knee in mockery, 
And spit upon him there, ' 

Then cried, " All hail ! king of the Jews, 
If thou be Christ, why there ? 

The bleeding sufferer patient bore 

His shameful, cruel death, 
Cast a forgiving look around, 

And with his dying breath, 
" Father ! forgive them all," cried He, 

" They know not what they do !" 
And with a saddened spirit, breathed 

His painful, last adieu. 



WE'LL MEET AGAIN. 

We '11 meet again I although not where 
So oft hath been our meeting ; 

Though not among the circle gay. 
Will be our future greeting. 

We '11 meet again ! but not where mirth, 
And fashion hold their power ; 

Not 'mong the busy scenes and joys, 
That gild life's passing hour. 



76 



POEMS. 



We '11 meet again ! but not among 
The few to friendship dear ; 

IVo more at evening's gentle shade, 
Will be our meeting here. 

We '11 meet again ! and only once, 
But meet to part no more ; 

When this brief, fleeting life is done, 
We '11 meet on Heaven's shore ! 



THE TWINS. 



1 saw two lovely infants lay, 
Both wrapped in gentle sleep ; 

A mother sat beside her babes, 
Watching with interest deep ; 

And ne'er was seen a fairer sight. 

Than those twin buds of beauty bright. 

While gazing on their tiny forms, 

So spotless, pure, and mild, 
1 thought what were our Savior's words. 

In speaking of a child ; 
" Such are the objects of my love, 
Of such my kingdom is above." 



POEMS. 

Oh ! who could deem those little souls. 

Where pureness seemed engraved 
Fresh from an Almighty hand, 

Could be " totally depraved."* 
If such can be an infant's mind, 
Where can we innocence e'er find ? 

Again 1 saw those infant twins. 
E'er many months had sped, 

Clothed in their little funeral shroud, 
Laid in the earth's cold bed. 

If totally depraved they were, 

Where now can be that infant pair ? 

Nothing depraved, as all allow. 
Can enter Heaven's dome ; 

And Christ hath said that children all 
Should dwell within His throne. 

Then, little infants must be pure, 

To live with Him whose word is sure. 



77 



LIFE'S VICISSITUDES. 

I never had a favorite flower, 
But it was sure to die ; 



* The above lines were suggested on hearing a lady say 
that she believed in the total depravity of children. 



78 POEMS. 

Although I nursed it carefully, 
And saw no reason why. 

I never had a pleasing hope, 

But it was chased away ; 
And though I tried to lure it back,, 

Fate would not let it stay. 

1 never yet have formed a plan. 
But fortune frowned upon it ; 

And never sought a cherished thing, 
But some one else had won it. 

I never had a valued friend, 
But we were doomed to part ; 

Though disappointment well may chill, 
It shall not break my heart. 

Oh ! it is thus with every thing 

I prize and wish to keep ; 
No sooner do I love it well, 

Than I its loss must weep. 

I never, now, will build again 

Another earthly shrine ; 
And though my fondest hopes have fled, 

I will not e'er repine. 



POEMS. 79 

For He who guides and governs all, 

Hath thus ordained my fate ; 
Though passing clouds may dim my path, 

In time they '11 dissipate. 



THE BOYS AND THEIR BOATS. 

While walking in the fields one day, 
I saw two little boys at play, 

Near by a streamlet's brink ; 
A tiny boat each boy possessed, 
And happiness so filled each breast, 

I could but pause and think, 
And wish that all their days could be 
Like childhood's hours, pure and fi:ee. 

And now they place each little boat 
Upon the streamlet's breast to float. 

Impelled by gentlest gales ; 
And watching every wave that flows, 
And every trifling breeze that blows, 

Filling their mimic sails. 
In them 1 could most striking scan 
The perfect miniatureof man. 



80 POEMS. 

Awhile the boats majestic glide, 
In fancied safety, side by side, 

Much to the youth's delight ; 
Who little deemed the hour was nigh, 
When all those heartfelt joys would fly, 

Before misfortune's blight. 
And well for us we cannot see, 
All the ills that are to be. 

The wind blew stronger from the shore, 
And farther down the strearti it bore 

Their little fragile boats ; 
Till, carried by the current's force, 
A rock soon checked their rapid course, 

And on the surface floats 
The wreck of both those vessels small, 
The Boys' fond hopes, their little all. 

And thus we do a picture see. 
Of earthly hopes uncertainty, 

Upon the sea of Time ; 
With buoyancy we look before, 
And brightest visions stealing o'er, 

Speak of another clime. 
But fondest hopes are often lost, 
And on despair's dark quicksands tost. 



POEMS. 

Our barque is launched on life's rough stream. 
And it may prove a troubled dream 

To many a feeling soul ; 
But He, who at the helm presides, 
Ever, as now, in safety guides, 

Towards that distant goal, 
In radiant realms of endless light, 
Beyond the view of mortal sight. 



81 



THE WANDERiBR. 

Pilgrim ! whither dost thou roam, 
Hast thou on the earth no home ? 
Is thy heart with sorrow riven ? 
Hast thou with misfortune striven ? 
Art thou care-worn, sad and weary ? 
Are life's pleasures dull and dreary ? 
Oh, yield thee not to dark despair, 
Patiently thy sorrows bear : 
There is an antidote to grief, 
Look thou on high for that relief; 
There dwells a God of boundless love, 
And justice marks his throne above. 
To Him pour forth thy fervent prayer^ 
Thou 'rt still tbe object of his care. 
6 



82 POEMS. 

He dries the tears from mourner's eyes, 
And bids the trembling spirit rise. 
And though thy heart may faint for rest, 
Let Heaven animate thy breast : 
'Mid Ufe's dark ills trace God's decrees, 
And feel that mercy still thee sees ; 
Sees with an eye that never sleeps, — 
Unwearied, watchful, near thee keeps : 
Turn to that Holy One above, 
Drink of the fount of endless love j 
Arouse thee, fix thy thoughts on Heaven, 
And taste the refuge grace hath given • 
. Oh, may this cheer thy spirit's sight, 
" His yoke is easy — bui'den light" 



THE FAREWELL. 



Oh, do not breathe that little word, 
It hath a withering sound ; 

For painful thoughts are with it stirred, 
Though all be bright around. 

For who hath fortitude to meet. 
Unnerved, the magic spell. 

That lingers in the dying notes, 
Of the faint-spoke farewell. 



POEMS 



85 



The trembling voice, the humid eye^ 

The firmly grasping hand, 
All thrill the soul with agony, 

That few can well withstand. 

I have known; these, and vainly tried 

To baffle feeling's sting j 
But the choked stream would fain gush forth^ 

From its deep swelling spring. 



STANZAS. 



There is a little quiet spot. 

E'en in this world of care, 
Where, all forgetting, soon forgot, 

We rest in silence there. 
That spot is where the cypress waves,. 

And where the long grass grows ; 
^ is sacred to unnumbered graves, 

And soothes life's deepest woes. 

T is there that each will lay their head, 
'T is there our limbs will rest. 

When every spark of life hath fled, 
That animates our breast. 



84 POEMS. 

And when that solemn time doth come, 

As come to all it must, 
That takes the immortal spirit home, 

And yields our frames to dust. 

Grant, Heavenly Father ! we may meet 

Resigned, our latest hour ; 
Humbly to bend at Jesus' feet, 

And own His sovereign power ! 



THE DYING GIRL. 

Her lamp of life burns dimly now, 

The hectic flush is o'er, 
The damp of death is on her brow. 

Where smiles are seen no more. 

Her eyes have lost their sparkling ray, 
Her voice hath lost its tone, 

Her pulses soon will cease to play, 
And death will claim his own. 

And she, the gifted and the loved, 

Is passing from the earth : 
Forgetting all, forgot in turn, 

E'en such is mortal birth. 



p o f;M s . 

Ere many fleeting hours have passed, 
The fluttering soul will break 

The confines of its fragile frame, 
Its upward flight to take. 

For her pure spirit will ascend 

To that Almighty Power, 
Who placed the bud on earth to bloom. 

And takes it back, a flower. 



83 



ON LIFE. 



When lifers gay scenes have ceased to shed, 

Their influence o'er the mind, 
And Hope's bright meteors all have fled, 

Leaving a wreck behind : 

When pleasure 's ceased to shed its rays, 

Our pathway to illume, 
And joy no longer gilds our days, 

E'en in life's early bloom ; 

When all that once hath charmed the heart. 

And gratified the eye, 
And all we 've loved, we 've seen depart, 

What recks it when we die ? 



86 POEMS* 

Though all our joys of life may fade. 
And leave the heart in sadness, 

Kind Heaven hath for mortals made 
A rest where all is gladness. 

That rest is far beyond the tomb, 
Within high Heaven's dome, 

Where bright, celestial rays illume 
Our Maker's sacred throne. 



TO A LITTLE GIRL. 

1 love to gaze upon thy face, 
For there in loveliness' I trace, 

The impress of thy mind ; 
And in thy witching smile 1 see, 
A buoyant spirit, light and free, 

Unfettered as the wind. 

Thy swelling soul is full of love, 
Deep springing from the fount above, 

Whence purest feelings flow ; 
And gilding with a hallowed beam, 
The saddened page of life's dull stream, 

That all must taste below. 



POEMS. ^^ 

Oh, may thy heart, so formed to bless, 
E'er meet the fond and warm caress 

Of sweet confiding love ; 
And may thy swiftly fleeting hours, 
Be ever marked with choicest flowers, 

Till called to realms above. 

And when thy journey here is past, 
And death's stern mission comes at last, 

To take thee from the earth, 
Oh, may'st thou reach that unknown shore. 
Those blessed regions to explore. 

That home of thy spirit's birth. 



THE POET'S LOT. 

Oh, would' St thou know the poet's lot, 
Their hopes, with all their fears. 

The changing glow, the burning pulse. 
Tempered with sighs and tears. 

Though flowers may seem to deck their path, 

And sunshine gild each hour. 
Yet clouds will often on them press, 
And thorns make known their power. 



88 POEMS. 

They 're apt to cherish hopes that cheat, 
And when their hearts beat high, 
They find, alas 1 what promised bright, 
Was not too^ bright to die. 

And though they nurture in the breast, 
Feehngs, the warmest kind ; 

Yet are they doomed to feel the breath 
Of censure touch their mind. 

They often sacrifice the bliss. 
That Fortune's favorites share, 

And in unheeded solitude, 

Her proud, cold frowns must bear. 

Pretended friends may chant their praise, 

If wealthy they but seem ; 
Yet turn the scale, sans riches they, 

And friendship 's then a dream. 

But friendship is not always false, 
There 's one that ne'er deceives ; 

For ages past, the poet's friend. 
Which every bard believes. 



POEMS. 39 

From Homer, Virgil, Milton's birth, 

Down to the present day, 
The " rhyming race" acknowledge him, 

To hold resistless sway. 

That constant friend^ both firm and true. 

To each good hearted poet, 
Is Poverty ! and every one 

That ever rhymed, must know it. 



STANZAS. 



Sadness with all its busy train 

Of musings, hovered o'er me. 
And with a magic power threw 

Its misty veil before me. 

It was not dark within my soul, — 

A ray of heavenly love 
1 felt inspire my mental shrine, 

With influence from above. 

But still I saw my spirits sink ; 

The world looked cold around me. 
And friendship seemed but shadow's shade, 

When twilight thus had found me. 



90 POEMS* 

1 raised my eyes to yon bright sphere, 
Where in unfading lightness, 

One litde star was smiling down, 
In all its native brightness* 

E'en thusj I thought, doth Heaven throw, 

A star of hope before us, 
And with its soothing power shed, 

A cheering radiance o'er us. 



HOME. 

There 's a spell entwined around the heart, 

No earthly power can sever ; 
'T will linger there 'till life depart ; 
_ And can it break ? Oh, never ! 

Where'er we wander through this sphere. 
Where'er our steps may roam, 

There 's nought in life we find so dear. 
As are the charms of Home ! 

We may travel through our native land, 

Or seek a foreign shore, 
And meet with many an open hand. 
And heart of friendship's store. 



POEMS* ^^ 

* t 

But whereso'er our steps may beiid, 

However dear the spot, 
Though pleasure may its witcheries lend, 

Home cannot be forgot. 

f 
The sailor on the briny deep, 

Amid the billows foam, 
Oft feels his heart within him leap, 

When thinking of his home. 

The warrior 'mid the cannons noise, 

Or clash of sword and spear, 
Retains within his breast the joys 

Of home, that still is dear. 

The husband, when abroad he goes. 

Whom interest calls to roam, 
Knows that the truest pleasure flows 

Within his little home. 

The wife, should duty call away 

From the domestic hearth. 
Feels that she cannot, must not stay, 

From a home of so much worth. 



92 



POEMS 



The child, when absent from the arms, 

Of fond parental bliss, 
Thinks that the world can boast no charms, 

Like home and a parent's kiss. 



TIME. 

Unheard, unseen, the rapid wheels of Time, 
Pursue their noiseless, unobstructed round ; 
Urging us onward to a peaceful clime, 
To silent realms, where solitude is found. 

Sun, Moon and Stars alternate rise and set ; 
The tides perform their daily ebb and flow ; 
While fleeting Time envelopes with his net, 
All that 's existing in this vale below. 

Time passes by us like the idle wind, 
And we pass with it, yet we heed not where ; 
Reckless of all, if pleasure we but find, 
And deem the future, scarce deserving care. 



POEMS. 93 



TO A FRIEND ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. 

When thou hast departed 

From this happy shore, 
And the warm and true-hearted, 

Thy absence deplore ; — 

While o'er the raging sea, 

Reckless of danger, 
Thou art roving free, 

Ocean's wide ranger, — 

May gales propitious blow, — 

No storms await thee. 
But pleasure's cheering glow, 

Ever elate thee. 

Bright be thy waking hours. 

Sweet be thy dreams, 
Rife be thy path with 6owers, 

BriUiant life's scenes. 

Through sunshine or storm. 
Kind Heaven attend thee ; 

From peril and harm, 
Forever befriend thee. 



94 



POEMS. 

Light be thy sorrow, 

Tranquil thy rest ; 
May eac*h coming morrow, 

Still find thee more blest. 

And when home returning,. 
To friends you love best, 

May the flame of love burnings 
Glow bright in each breast. 

Heaven's best gifts be thine. 
With life's dearest pleasure ; 

, Hearts worthy as thine, 

WiU be filled without measure* 



AUTUMN. 



Stern Autumn reigns ! the leaves fall fast^ 
Borne onward by the threatening blast ; 
The flowers are faded, — no verdure is seen,. 
The fields and foliage no longer are green. 
Sullen and chill is the Autumn breeze, 
Pouring its notes through the leafless trees. 
The warbler's voice hath ceased to cheer,- 
And all the plants are withered and sere. 



POEMS 



95 



The sweets of summer lie scattered and dead> 
Neglected, forgot, on the earth's cold bed. 
Blow, winds, blow ! the leaves fall fast, 
For winter is near, and the summer's past. 

The air hath lost its sweet perfume. 
All nature is dressed in a garb of gloom ; 
The murmuring stream and the silent grove, 
The whispering breeze and the voice of love^ 
The moon's mild beam, or the twilight hour, 
The rustic grot, or the woodbine bower, 
Attract no more the step of the maid, 
Who loves at eve to rove the glade ; 
For the air is cold, the dews are chill, 
Descending around her favorite hill. 
Rlow, winds, blow ! the leaves fall fast, 
For winter is near, and the summer 's past 



TO A FRIEND. 



Say will you not for me, my friend, 

Awake one plaintive strain. 
Upon thy lyre's trembling chords, 

That I may list again 
To sweetest sounds from those lips of thine, 
Speaking of joys of '* Auld lang syne." 



96 POEMS. 

'T will rouse deep thoughts of other days, 
'T will quicken feeling's spring, 

And to this heart that loves thee much, 
A saddened joy 't will bring. 

Then breathe for me one gentle lay, 

For it will soothe my pulses play. 

There is a " winter in my soul !" 

A sadness in my heart, 
And it can feel no greater bliss. 

Than what thou canst impart. 
Then let me listen once again, 
To thy voice's melting strain. 

There 's gladness in thy sparkling eye, 
There 's sweetness in thy tone. 

That cheers this lonely heart of mine, 
Though other joys have flown. 

Then, touch the lyre, and let it tell 

Of moment's past, remembered well. 



MORNING. 



Day opes his gates, 
All nature wakes, 



j» o E m; s . 

And joyful hails the morn ; 
The sun's bright beams, 
O'er curling streams, 
Looks enmity to storm. 

The hills and plains, 
Refreshed with rains, . 
Arrayed in brightest green, 
With smiles o'erlook 
The neighboring brook,, 
And each adjacent scene. 

Creation smiles. 

With winning wiles, 

And bids all earth rejoice ; 

Tree, plant and flower, 

In field and bower. 

All praise God with one voice. 

Then, can it be,. 
That we who see 
The works of all creation. 
Can view unmoved, 
The things God proved. 
When all bespeak their station. 
7 



97 



98 POEMS. 

No mortal can 

God's great works scan, 

But what will own His power ; 

'T was He gave birth 

To all on earth, 

And He ordains each hour. 



THE LAST REQUEST. 

Oh, mother dear, said little James, 

May I a fishing go ? 
The sun shines bright, the air is clear. 

The winds do scarcely blow. 

I 've got a little hook and line. 
Some angle- worms for bait ; 

And there 's my basket for the fish. 
All ready, by the gate. 

And if you will but give consent, 

1 ne'er again will tease ; 
I do wish very much to go. 

Dear Mother, if you please. 



POEMS* ^ 



Well, go my boy, his mother saidj 

But soon, again return ; 
Stay not 'till dusk, but hasten home, 

Thou hast thy task to learn. 

Away, away ran little James, 

In high and happy glee. 
And stopped not 'till his feet had gained, 

The shore of the deep blue sea. 

And there beside the water's edge, 

He angled with success ; 
Unthinking how the hours flew, 

So light Time's fingers press. 

The day passed on, and twilight came, 
The sky in clouds was drest 5 

The winds blew high o'er hill and dale, . 
And o'er the ocean's breast. 

'T was evening — James had not returned, 

The storm increased apace ; 
The anxious mother felt alarmed. 

And tears ran down her face. 

Oh where, cried she, can be my boy ? 

I fear some ills await ; 
He is not used to disobey. 

Where can he be so late f 



100 POEMS, 

The storm waged on, the thunder pealed, 
And Hghtning flushed the sky ; 

I '11 seek my child ! the mother cried ; 
I '11 find him or I '11 die. 

She took her infant from her breast, 

And placed it on the bed ; , 

Then left the house, and onward went 
With an aching heart and head. 

A long and weary way she trod,, 
With the raging storm around her ; 

Yet she felt it not, for a mother's love, 
With unshrinking firmness bound her. 

At length she reached the pebbly beach. 

And called her boy by name ; 
No voice replied ; a.D;ain she called ; 

And yet again, in vain. 

And there, in darkness and in fear, 
With thunders pealing o'er her, 

The frantic mother sought her child,, 
With hope's bright ray before her. 



POEMS. 101 

Again the thunder rolled on high, 

Again the lightning gleamed ; 
And o'er the wild and fearful scene, 

A fitful radiance streamed. 

She Wandered far along the shore, 

Still calling on her son ; 
Ask of the waves if they can tell, 

Where is her cherished one ? 

Deep, deep within the ocean cave. 

Now rests his little head ; 
Unbroken will his slumber be, 

'Till the waves give up their dead. 



CHRIST ON THE WATERS- 

There 's storm upon the mighty deep. 

There 's thunder in the sky ; 
The winds rage on with reckless sweep. 

Dark clouds are passing by. 
Fast flies the lightning o'er the breast 

Of nature's wide domain ; 
The frightful waves uprear their crest, 

Lashing their " foamy mane." 



102 POEMS, 

The world seems falling from its sphere, 

Trembling beneath the blow ; 
Wildness and darkness, dread and fear, 

A gloomy aspect show. 
But, hark ! what sound salutes our ears. 

With joy our bosoms fill, 
Dispelling all our doubts and fears, 

And whispers, " Peace, be still !'* 

'T is He, the Ruler of the storm, 

Whose power, waves obey ; 
Whose holy voice, whose sacred form, 

The elements doth stay. 
So He, who stills the raging sea. 

And calms the troubled air, 
Can bid all grief and sadness flee, 

And give relief from care. , 



STANZAS. 



They tell me that the fairest flowers. 
The soonest fade and die ; 

And that our very happiest hours, 
Pass like a south wind's sigh. 



POEMS. 

Like dew-drops sparkling in the sun, 
Like moonlight on the sea, 

Like morning mist ere day's begun. 
So brief our pleasures be. 

As transient as the meteor's beam, 

Shooting adown the sky ; 
And fleeting as a midnight dream, 

Is life's reality. 
Then let us, as we journey here. 

In this cold world of ours, 
Where thorns so frequently appear, 

To mar our passing hours. 

Cull all the choicest flowers we find, 

That 's scattered in our way. 
And treasure deep within our mind, 

The sweets of every day. 
Then we shall have a mental store 

Of bright, unfading gems ; 
As pure as mortals ever wore, 

Earth's richest diadems. 



103 



104 POEMSk 



DEATH. 



Oh, twine jio flowers for the pallid brow, 

The victor hath claimed his prize ; 
Death spread his wings on the midnight air, 

And his trophy 's borne to the skies. 
Though ye gather blossoms to deck the corse, 

That hath bowed to the tyrant's power, 
Decay is borne on the passing breeze, 

And it spares not the loveliest flower. 

I 've heard of a land where blight ne'er comes, 

Where the conquests of death are o'er ; 
"Where the cares of life, and disease's hand, 

Shall trample the spirit no more. 
Then let us speed on for a better home, 

A haven of endless repose, 
Where eye ne'er pales, where heart ne'er fails, 

And celestial purity flows. 



DIRGE. 

Open a grave where the flowers bloom, 
That the lowly bed may have perfume, 
To soften the air of the lurid tomb, 

Where the loved will rest. 



POEMS. 106 

The cypress and yew should mark the grave, 
And the bending grass should gently wave, 
Over the being that Heaven gave, 

Bright purity's breast. 

The mellowed voice of the midnight air, 
Should breathe a pensive requeim there ; 
And the place should a holy silence wear. 

Where the absent dwells. 
The birds should come at the twihght hour, 
And swell their notes in the sacred bower, 
Where the waving branch and fragrant flower, 

Their loneliness tells. 

The spirit of Poesy should rear 

The hallowed shrine of devotion here, 

And pure affection's rising tear, 

Should love to linger 
Around the cherished tenant's place. 
And like a gem in a sacred vase, 
No ruthless power will it e'er efface. 

Save Time's own finger. 

Then place her gently in the ground. 
Where verdant sods doth spread around, 
While friendship hallows the sacred mound. 
Over the one we love. 



106 POEMS. 

And time that passes so swiftly by, 
Though it chills the heart and dims the eye, 
Can never teach afiection to die, 

Its fountain is above. 



FOR AN ALBUM. 



Could I but boast a Hemans' magic skill, 

To guide my fancy and inspire my will, 

To lead me through those amaranthine bowers, 

Eoriched by Poesy's unfading flowers, 

Where the heart's sunshine gilds the mental shrine, 

And cheers the feelings with a power divine. 

Then might I seek to breathe my little lay, 

Assured my powers would all my wish obey. 

But since I claim no high poetic fire, 

To waken melody within my lyre, 

To teach my soul rich feelings to impart. 

With the mysterious influence of art ; 

I '11 be content with such as 1 can yield. 

To be an humble votary in the field. 

May all those gifted ones who e'er essay, 

To wander in the muses' flowery way, 

Feel inspiration's lofty, godlike power. 

Infuse celestial radiance through each hour. 



POEMS. 107 

May pure religion all their thoughts control, 
And virtue dictate as they pen each scroll. 
May rich and holy sentiments arise, 
To meet the plaudits of admiring eyes. 
And if, in future years you scan this page. 
That now my heart-felt tribute doth engage. 
To cast one flower from off thy mem'ry's shrine, 
Is all the offering that I ask as mine. 



THE TEAR, SIGH, AND SMHiE. 

I saw a tear within thine eye, 
, It trembled 'neath the hd. 
Till fuller, larger, it became, 
Then dropped at feeling's bid. 

No word was spoken, all was still, 
I watched the pearl drops rise. 

And vainly wished I could define 
The language of thine eyes. 

A sigh arose from sorrow's fount, 

(Sighs are a great relief;) 
Those glist'ning gems then passed away. 

Thy agony was brief. 



108 P O E M S • 

A smile soon played upon thy brow, 
The sunshine of the heart ; 

But still a trace of grief was there, 
It did not all depart. 

Thus tears and sighs with smiles unite, 
To breathe the soul's revealing ; 

Those trio sisters, feehng's band, 
Know not the art — conceahng. 



STANZAS. 



There are thoughts we never breathe, 

Hopes we dare not e'er express*; 
Hidden in the mental shrine, 

Nurtured there, we closely press ; 
Hold them to our trembling heart, 

Fearing yet to think them true. 
Lest we feel the painful dart, 

Adverse fortune's fingers threw. 

Cherishing the phantom Hope, 
Knowing that she doth deceive ; 

Yet we cling more closer still, 
All she promises, believe. 



POEMS 



109 



Wearied with the anxious chase> 
We reluctantly give o'er ; 

Finding the enticing form, 
Gay deception's mantle wore. 



TO A LADY, WITH A BOUQUET. 

To you these little flowers I send, 
As they your favorites are ; 

Accept them from your humble friend, 
They her best wishes bear. 

I culled them ere the morning Sun 
Had kissed the dew away ; 

But fear before the day is done, 
Their beauty will decay. 

Though frail their birth, do not refuse 
The offering which I bring. 

Or the efforts of my erring muse, 
On fancy's airy wing. 

And if sometimes a thought of me 
Should o'er thy senses steal, 

Oh may these flowers be to thee 
Fond memory's brightest seal. 



no POEMS 



THE STORM SPIRIT. 

The storm spirit rose on the midnight air, 

From his slumber long and deep, 
And fluttered his pinions here and there. 
While his fearful brow did darkness wear, 
As he took at nature a peep. 

" Too long," said he, *'have the elements slept ; 

Their chains — 't is for me to break them ; 
And since in that art I 'm called an adept, 
My trust, 1 hope, I have faithfully kept, 

So now I '11 try to awake them." 

He breathed a loud blast, and the clouds upreared 

Their heads in a hideous heap ; 
The greatest confusion quickly appeared. 
While a frightful noise around was heard, 

In taking his onward leap. 

The thunder pealed forth with its awful sound. 

While lightning flashed from on high ; 
And far over hills and the vales around, 
The hail and rain together did bound, 
And blackness marked the sky. 



POEMS. Ill 

Wherever his breath passed over the land, 

In its reckless raging speed, ' 
The mightiest trees could scarcely withstand 
The devastation of the unseen hand, 

That urged the ruinous deed. 

Then over the ocean he quickly passed, 

Where the vessels in safety lay, 
And tossed them about, and shivered each mast, 
Rending the sails that were firm and fast, 

As he sped on his rapid way. 

And many a ship with shrouds so fair, 

With many a noble soul, 
In all their pride have now perished there. 
While the waves in their ceaseless course doth 
bear 

The wrecks, as they onward roll. 

Then the Storm Spirit paused, and cast a look 

O'er the ruins his power had made. 
And the desolate scene he quickly forsook, 
While far in the distance his way he took. 
As his furious arm was stayed. 



112 P O E xM & . 



REMEMBRANCE. 

They think that I 've forgot 
Those long departed hours ; 

That memory's found a blot 
Within her hidden bowers. 

They deem that time has healed 
The wound so long since made ; 

That lapse of years hath steeled 
My heart to sorrow's shade. 

The cold world thinks the while, 
My soul hath lost its smart ; 

That 'neath a careless smile 
There beats a happy heart. 

'T is true my face may wear 

A dress of sunny glee, 
My brow may often bear 

A mild serenity ; 

My lips may join the laugh, 

My spirits seem like air,^ 
But yet my soul doth quaff 

Deep — deep remembrance there 



POEMS. lis 

Oh ! no I Ve not forgot 

Those fond hours of gladness ; 

Memory can know no blot, 
Though tinged with sadness. 



AGE. 

1 saw an old man bowed with age. 

His hair was silvery white, 
And cares of long forgotten years. 

Had dimmed his spirit^s light. 

And Time had fixed his record there 

Upon his lofty brow, 
Telling of days forever fled, 

Of life more fresh than now. . 

His pallid face and trembling step, 

His rayless, sunken eye, 
And weak, attenuated frame, 

Speaks of a time to die. 

Though long his lease of life hath been, 

'T is drawing to a close ; 
Life's taper burns but faintly now, 

A pale effulgence throws. 
8 



114 POEMS. 

And when his final moment comes, 

As soon, it surely must, 
That takes his fluttering spirit home, 

And yields his frame to dust, 

Oh, may he meet, with feelings calm. 

That last eventful hour. 
Resigned to bid farewell to all, 

And own God's sovereign power. 



TO AN INFANT SON OF MY BROTHER. 

Welcome, welcome little stranger, 

We are joyed to meet thee ; 
Welcome to this earthly dwelling, 

AH with pleasure greet thee. 

Here are hearts with love o'erflowing. 
Here are minds to bless thee ; 

Affection's gifts to thee bestowing. 
All ready to caress thee. 

Little spirit sent from Heaven, 

To increase our pleasure, 
Hearts with love to thee are swelling, 

Lovely litde treasure. 



POEMS 



115 



Like to a dew-drop from above j 

In purity thou art ; 
A valued gem from yon bright sky, 

To sparkle in each heart. 

Thou ^st brought a chain from realms on high, 
And with it thou hast bound us ; 

'T is firm and fast, unfading too, 
And finely fettered 'round us. 

And as each passing day and year, 

Thy mental flowers expand, 
Oh, may it be thy parent's care, 

To trace with careful hand 

Upon the pages of thy mind, 

Precepts of truth divine : 
Guide thee ^aright in future years, 

And guard their little vine. 

Heaven smiled on the momentous hour, 

That gave thy spirit birth, 
And placed thee here a little bud, 

To blossom on the earth » 



116 



POEMS 



MEMORY. 



Were I to blot from memory's shrine, 

The records of the past, 
And in oblivion's sacred fount, 

All recollection cast, — 

Would purer happiness be mine, 

If I should thus essay, 
To cancel from my mental page. 

Each dark and sunny ray ? 

I 'd like to cast all saddened thoughts, 

Like loathsome weeds away ; 
And only all the sweets retain, 

To cheer each passing day. 

But bitter so is joined with sweet, 

I never can them sever, 
And rather than part with one dear thought, 

I '11 keep the sad forever. 



THE BIRD IS FREE. 

The chord is broken, 

Her day dream is o'er, 
The words she hath spoken, 
She will speak no more. 



POEMS. 117 

All dim is her eye, 

That shone so brightly, 
And still is her heart, 

That beat so lightly. 

The smile that played 

O'er her lovely brow, 
Is all, perchance, 

Forgotten now. 

Her spirit hath left 

Its earthly throne ; 
Like a wandering bird 

To its home hath flown. 

Though bright was the casket. 

And brighter the gem, 
The flower is blighted 

To bloom not again. 

Not a sigh e'er told 

Of the parting hour, 
When the spoiler crushed 

That little flower. 

Like a star she came. 
And lingered here. 
And all she asked 
Was a silent tear. 



118 POEMS. 

The bird is free, 
Unchained it flies, 

With its broken heart, 
To its native skies. 

Exhaled from earth, 
She seeks above, 

The perfect bliss 
Of endless love. 



THE DYING BABE. 

'T was evenins^, and the sun had gone, 
Far down the western skv, 

The stars came twinkling one by one, 
Forth from their realms on high. 

When by her dying infant's bed, 

A mother knelt in prayer ; 
Imploring the Almighty Power, 

Her little flower to spare. 

She gazed upon the sufferer's face, 
. Her hopes again beat high ; 
For sleep o'erpowered its little frame. 
She thought it could not die. 



POEMS 



119 



The night passed on, the parent sat, 

Her watchful vigils keeping ; 
Till worn with ceaseless, anxious care, 

The morning found her sleeping. 

She dreamed her infant had revived, 
That Heaven had heard her prayer ; 

She woke — looked on its features, but — 
The spirit was not there. 



GOD. 

God of seasons, God of prayer, 
God of heaven, earth and air. 
Thou from whom our blessings flow, 
While we linger here below. 
May we ever worship Thee, 
With solemn, deep humility ; 
May gratitude's undying flame, 
Unite with our Redeemer's name. 

God of day and God of night, 
God of life and God of light ; 
Thou who art enthroned above, 
God of mercy and of love, 



120 POEMS. 

Be pleased to lend a listening ear, 
To all thy humble suppliants here ; 
'T is thou alone can grace impart, 
To those who pray with fervent heart, 

God of judgment, God of death. 
Eternal source of every breath ; 
Thy veiled, yet thy all-seeing eye, 
Each mortal's inmost thoughts descry ; 
And with a lenient look doth view 
Our errors and our foibles too ; 
Though erring, we would humbly flee, 
And dwell forever, God, with thee. 



REFLECTIONS IN A GRAVE-YARD. 

Again, upon this sacred place, 

I 've wandered forth alone. 
And mused o'er many a Htlle mound, 

The grave hath claimed its own. 

Here rest the gifted and the loved, 

From care and sorrow free. 
Their brief day-dream of life is o'er, 

Their conqueror, Death , is thee. 



POEMS. 121 

Some new raised stones attract my eye, 

And breathe the saddened tale, 
Of youth and virtue buried here, 

Of beauty's cheek, now pale. 

Fond hearts have mourned their early call, 
Bright eyes have wept the doom 

Of those they loved so fervently, 
Thus hastened to the tomb. 

Impartial archer ! Death ! art thou ; 

Unerring is thy aim ; 
The old and young, the grave and gay. 

To thee, are all the same. 

None, none can tell thy arrow's course. 

Unswerving from their line ; 
They onward speed their unseen flight. 

And the victor's wreath is thine. 



CHILD AT PRAYER. 

Hush ! the child at prayer is kneeling, 
Down beside her little bed ; 

While, the twilight hour stealir^g, 
Casts its shadows o'er her head. 



122 POEMS. 

See those little hands reposing, 
Gently o'er that infant breast, 

While her lovely eyes are closing, 
Like an infant's, when at rest. 

List ! she breathes the name of" Mother '/* 
" Father !" too, 1 hear her say ; 

While the words of *' Sister !" " Brother T* 
Are mingled in her evening lay. 

Fervently her voice is lifted. 

To that Holy One above ; 
As her little heart is gifted. 

To express her deepest love. 

A blessing she is now imploring, 
On that guileless head to rest ; 

While her spirit upward soaring, 
Breathes so sweetly her request. 

Surely if the prayers of mortals, 
Find access to the throne on high, 

Her's will enter those bright portals. 
Though unseen by human eye. 



POEMS. 



123 



THE AUTHOR'S ADIEU TO PLYMOUTH, 

Farewell to Plymouth's sea-girt shore, 

Home of the Pilgrim band ; 
No more I '11 hear the wild waves roar, 

Around my " Father-land." 

1 go, but with a sad farewell, 

1 gaze around me here. 
While painful thoughts my bosom swell, 

As the parting hour draws near. 

Far, far away to distant scenes, 

Reluctant do I go ; 
While retrospection's hallowed beams, 

A brighter radiance throw. 

It is not 'neath the sunniest skies, 

That warmest hearts abound ; 
Where coldest winds breathe forth their sighs> 

Friendship 's oft purest found. 

And here, upon this rocky shore, 

Full many a heart 1 've met, 
With kindest feelings teeming o'er. 

That 1 shall ne'er forget. 



124 POEMS. 

Then, fare thee well thou ancient place, 
Land where our fathers trod ; 

Blessed, thrice blessed be the pilgrim race, 
Round the altars of their God. 



REFLECTIONS ON THE DISASTER OF THE 
LEXINGTON, JAN. 13, 1840- 

Methinks I see it now ; 
That fated barque, loosed from its moorings. 
Proudly coursing o'er the heaving waves, 
Bearing within its narrow confines 
Many fond, confiding, joyous hearts, 
Each with some treasured happiness 
In view. 

The day's departing beams, 
Had softly faded into the shades 
Of evening; the winds seemed hushed into 
A gentle murmur, while the stars were 
Smilinor down in all their radiance. 
Fast sped the boat and fearless, o'er the 
Waters of her well known, oft-tried course ; 
While those who convened there in fancied 



POEMS, 125 

Safety, but little deemed that death v/as 
Hovering 'round them ; when the sad sound, 
" The boat 's on fire !" came like a thunder- 
Bolt to each one's heart. The appalling 
Cry is echoed all around ; they scarce 
Believe they hear aright ; transfixed they 
Stand for one brief moment, in breathless 
Silence, with affrighted gaze. Again, 
" The boat 's on fire !" meets their astounded 
Ears ; madly they rush on deck ; the flames 
Are bursting forth, above, below, around; 
With frenzied feelings they look in vain 
For succor ; death stares them in the face, 
For two devouring elements seem 
Waiting to engulph them ; in haste they 
Seek the boats, imagining to find. 
Security within them ; but the 
Treacherous waves deny them safety. 
How many hearts, riven with anguish, 
Hold, trembling on the vessel's side, till 
Exhausted strength, or fire's heat, sinks them 
Beneath the wave. Others leap, in wild, 
Despairing hopelessness, upon the 
Water's breast, seeking a plank, or but 
A straw to gain, to buoy them up. Vain 
Hope, and brief as vain ! death closed the 
Tragic scene. 



126 POEMS. 

There were proud hearts and stern, 
And men of noble daring ; but all, 
All was terror in a scene like this. 
Angels must have looked with pity on 
That sight ; there's not a heart that's heard the 
Painful tale, but feels as if some loved 
One had departed from their own dear 
Fire-side : all eyes have wept over the 
Ho r )vs oi that suffering night, which 
Fancy cannot paint, nor pen describe. 

Among the hapless crowd, 
Moved one who just returned from some far 
Distant clime, was wending onward to 
His eastern home, to consummate, with 
Heaven's blessing, a holy rite. But 
His sweet dream of happiness was brief; 
Death's angel hovered o'er him in that 
Trying hour, and took his spirit to 
A brighter realm. 

Truly he hath gone home) 
But not the home he fondly dreamed of; 
While she, the loved one, who with anxious 
Thoughts was waiting his return, doth feel 
The withering blast of disappointment 



POEMS. 127 

Halh passed o'er all her cherished hopes of 
Future bliss, casting a shade around 
Her path ; deeply hath she drank from life's 
Most bitter fountain ; but may that 
Great Being, within whose hands are all 
Our destinies, assuage her grief, and 
Pour into her bleeding heart the balm 
Of consolation, bidding her look 
With an unclouded vision, to a 
Reunion in the land of spirits. 



THE PAST. 

The past appears but a dream*; 

I've mused on it over and o'er, 
And as I reflect it doth seem 

To puzzle my senses the more. 
It came — it is gone — but where ? 

Not a vestige remains to tell 
Of all those moments that were, 

Save memory's fathomless well. 

There 's a shrine in every breast, 
A niche called memory's bower; 

The past is the only guest, 
Remembrance the only flower. 



128 POEMS. 

Ever green is that little spot, 
Unfading those flowers are ; 

And time can never blot, 

Gems that lie treasured there. 



THE MERMAID. 



A mermaid arose from her coral cave, 
In the depths of the dark, blue sea ; 
And sat on the crest of a sparkling wave, 
Chanting her song o'er the mariner's grave, 
In a language both wild and free. , 

O, come thou with me to my little grot, 

'Neath the heave of the ocean's breast, 
'T is a curious place, a lovely spot. 
Where all the sorrows of earth forgot, 
You will there be a welcome guest. 

My house is made of the brightest of shells, 

That are found in this briny bed ; 
There sweetest contentment forever dwells, 
Of the mermaid's abode, no being tells, 
None are there save the silent dead. 



POEMS 



129 



Then come, come with me to the sea-nymph's 
home, 

There are brightest gems of the deep ; 
Now dive far within the billow's foam, 
Thou 'It feel no desire away to roam, 

Just take at my grotto a peep. 

Come, hie thee away to the depths with me, 

Ere the light of the day hath past ; 
Time flies, and 1 linger no more for thee. 
But hasten away, for I plainly see 

Night's shadows are hurrying fast. 

And since you have doubted the mermaid now, 

1 will put my word to the test ; 
Ere twenty more hours have marked time's brow, 
I pledge thee my truth inia solemn vow, 

I will take a ship's crew to my rest. 

Thus sung the sea-maid, as breasting the wave, 

Her loose tresses floated in air ; 
Then uttered a shriek, as a plunge she gave, 
To seek 'neath the billows her rayless cave, 
For her coming guests to prepare. 

9 



130 POEMS. 

The sun had quietly gone to the west, 
Brightest gems had studded the sky, 
A calmness spread o'er the ocean's breast, 
While no human being e'er could have guessed, 
Of a storm then gathering nigh. 

There came a proud ship from India's strand. 
Deep laden with gems rich and rare ; 

Her crew were a bold and a hardy band, 

Firmly united in heart and in hand, 
And ready all danger to dare. 

Ere the vessel had reached that fatal place. 

Where the sea-nymph had breathed her vow ; 
The storm-spirit came with a rapid pace. 
And poured a wild blast o'er the water's face, 
And where is that proud ship now ? 

That barque long had struggled with storm and 
wave, 

And had reefed her sails to the wind ; 
But the crew were doomed to the ocean's grave, 
And all their efforts could never save. 

Or leave e'en one mess-mate behind. 



POEMS . 



131 



And there 'neath the dark sea's foamy crest, 

In the mermaid's bright coral cave ; 
Ere the twenty hours of time had prest, 
That noble crew had all gone to rest, 
In the ocean's unfadiom'd grave. 



REPLY TO A QUESTIONER. 

Thou asked if I was ever sad ? 

If grief ne'er dimmed my eye ? 
If I was always gay and glad, 

If sorrow passed me by ? 

Do thorns not mix with flowers, 
Along our pathway here ? 

Are not hfe's fleeting hours, 
Oft moistened with a tear ? 

Ask of the buried past. 

If cherished hopes are there, 

Within its confines cast, 
To wither with despair. 

Visit the gayest scene. 

And find the lightest heart ; 

See if its joyous beam, 
With sorrow hath no part* 



132 POEMS. 

Ask of the sparkling wave 
That sportive hurries by. 

If it is not the grave 
Of life's uncertainty. 

Though smooth the surface be, 
Lurks there no tide below ? 

The heart may silently 
Inhale some secret woe. 

Smiles may be oft a mask, 
Our feelings to conceal ; 

And what you idly ask, 
The future may reveal. 

By an Almighty Power, 
Was filled our cup of life ; 

Teems it not every hour, 
With cherished blessings rife. 

And though a passing cloud 
May dim our mental view, 

Should sadness always shroud 
The mind in sombre hue ? 



POEMS. 



133 



Go seek Time's storied urn, 
Remove the dust of ages, 

And thou wilt truly learn, 

Sadness hath marked its pages. 



FOR A SUNDAY SCHOOL. 

Almighty God ! before thy throne, 
With thankful hearts we bow ; 

Be pleased to bless this little band. 
And smile upon us now. 

Thy goodness formed us from the dust. 
Thy hand upholds us still ; 

Oh, may we ever in thee trust, 
And love thy holy will. 

And as from week to week we meet 
Within this house of prayer. 

To ask thy blessing for us all, 
Thy great, protecting care. 

May every little bosom swell 
With pure and fervent love. 

And grateful incense from each heart, 
Rise to thy throne above. 



134 POEMS 



FOR THE SAME. 

Our Father ! we have humbly come 

To join our hearts in praise ; 
And here before thy sacred throne, 

An offering to raise. 
We thank thee for thy daily gifts, 

Which thou around us spread. 
We thank thee for thy holy word 

We hear so often read. 

We bless thee for the privilege, 

Of here together meeting ; 
We thank thee that our little hearts, 

In unison are beating. 
We thank thee for our pastor's care, 

He tells us thou art love, 
And bids us look beyond this world, 

To a brighter home above. 



'& 



We thank thee for our Sunday School, 

For our kind teachers too ; 
And their instruction may we e'er 

Keep constandy in view. 
Father in Heaven ! accept our thanks ; 

Look from thy seat on high ; 
Forgive our foibles, keep us all, 

'Neath the shadow of thine eye. 



POEMS. 136 



SONG OF DEATH. 

I come in the silent midnight hour, 

Ye know me not till ye feel my power ; 

At morning's blush, ere the dew hath passed, 

I come, and ye quail beneath my blast. 

At noon-tide heat, at the setting sun, 

1 call for my trophies one by one. 

In the twilight dim, or evening shade, 

At every hour are my visits made. 

Ye dread my approach, and shrink with fear, 

When least expected, ye find me here. 

I breathe on the child at its mother's breast, 
And take it away to my silent rest. 
The maiden 1 loose from her lover's side, 
And call her far hence for my own pale bride. 
On the bending form of the silvery head, 
I look, and the spirit away hath sped. 
Whoever I touch with my withering breath. 
Are summoned away to the halls of Death. 
The fondest ties upon earth I sever. 
And here they meet not again forever. 

My quiver is full, and my bow is bent, 
My arrow speeds with a good intent j 



1S6 POEMS. 

I call ye away from grief and care, 
The sorrows of earth no longer to bear ; 
But ye cannot e'er tell where next I aim, 
Or when I shall point my arrow again. 
And ye coldly look as I onward press, 
Though ye find your numbers grow less and less. 
Ye try to forget your time may be nigh, 
But I will remember, and call by and bye. 



A THOUGHT. 



It comes to me at morning's hour, 
With all its sweet and magic power, 

To soothe my heart ; 
And often through the day I find. 
The vision ling'ring in my mind, 

With mystic art. 

At pensive twilight's lovely shade, 
Devoid of all external aid. 

It doth arise, — 
Bringing before my mental view, 
A picture that my fancy drew. 

Though dim it lies. 



137 



POEMS. 

It comes at soft and dewy eve, 
Its gentle influence to weave 

Around my soul ; 
And if I waken in the night, 
'T is still before me fresh and bright, 

With full control. 



Though but a thought, it hath the power, 
To cast a gladness o'er each hour, 

" To calm and cheer ;" 
E'en should the vision prove untrue. 
It gives my soul a brighter hue, 

While resting here. 

Then stay, sweet vision, linger yet, 
I '11 bless the hour when first we met. 

And claim thee mine ; 
But should'st thou ever truant prove. 
Oh, never would my spirit move 

Again to thine. 



ON THE DEATH OF MRS. S. A. H. 

** Even so Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight." 

Holy Writ. 

Once more the archer bent his bow, 
Again his arrow sped, 



138 POEMS. 

While deep and heavy fell the blow, 
On the now widowed head. 

By an unseen, unerring hand, 

Was aimed the fatal stroke, 
That thus among that happy band, 

Another chord hath broke. 

Though wrapt in sadness was the hour 
When her pure spirit passed ; 

Yet Heaven gained another flower, 
And " dust to dust" hath cast. 

Oh, Death ! " insatiate monarch !" thou 

Hast won another prize ; 
To thee all human hearts must bow, 

Thou break 'st the fondest ties. 

One after one we see depart. 

Link after link is broken ; 
Nought can avert Death's mystic art, 

When God's behest is spoken. 

Oh, Thou who hear'st the ^'raven's cry,*' 
And mark'st the " sparrow's fall," 

Look down with thy all-pitying eye, 
And hear the mourner's call. 



POEMS. 

Thy soothing influence impart 

To each afflicted breast ; 
The motherless, the stricken heart. 

Calm with thy holy zest. 

Mysterious are Heaven's decrees, 
The future, none can scan ; 

We see not as Our Father sees, 
Know not His mighty plan. 

*Tis our's to bear with humble love, 
Whatever griefs surround ; 

Resigned, to feel the hand above, 
Blesses, while it doth wound. 



139 



THE FIRST YELLOW LEAF. 

'T was a holy Sabbath's smihng day, 
The sportive winds had waked up to play, 
While cool and fresh was their autunm breath. 
That spoke to my heart of change and death. 
Mem'ry was strewing my path with gems, 
Those intellectual diadems, 
That sparkle within the mental shrine, 
Like dew-drops on the clustering vine, 



140 POEMS. 

When a golden leaf from its parent's side. 

Came trembling down in its fallen pride, 

And entered the window's broken pane, 

Never, oh never to rise again, 

And hold its place 'mong its sister leaves. 

Where winds and birds their music weaves. 

'T was the first sere leaf that met my view. 

And it breathed a tale of saddened hue ; 

It spoke to me in more touching tones, 

Than any that human effort owns. 

For though it was but a little leaf, 

Whose hold was frail and whose date was brief, 

'T was a striking type of earthly things, 

Fading away 'neath Time's pressing wings. 

A record of life, though brief, yet true, 

A monitor and a moral too. 

It told me that life was hastening on. 

That our joys and griefs would soon be gone, 

That " passing away," is stamped on all 

In the lowly cot or gilded hall ; 

Nought can escape decay's fell power. 

From lowly man, to the humblest flower. 

" Passing away" is borne on the breeze, 

And written upon the changing trees. 

Wherever we turn, whatever see. 

We are told of Time's fidelity. 



POEMS. 141 

So may I live, that when death shall come 
To summon my weary spirit home, 
I may calmly pass from things of time, 
To a better land and a purer clime ; 
Breathe not a sigh for this world of grief. 
But gently depart like the yellow leaf. 



ON LISTENING TO THE LAUGHTER OF 
CHILDREN. 

Laugh on ! laugh on in thy sportive mirth, 

Laugh on in thy childish glee ; 
I love the shout of ihy joyous hearts, 

In their un dimmed brilliancy. 
Laugh on ! I love thy unhidden joy, 

Thy feelings so bright and free, — 
They breathe in such sweet and happy strains 

Of thy young soul's purity. 

Enjoy thy sports while thy life is fresh. 
While thy youthful eyes are bright ; 

Ere the glittering scenes of childhood's dreams, 
Shall have bowed to sorrow's blight. 



1^2 POEMS. 

There will come an hour to one and all, 
When the light of youth hath fled, 

That will tell thy heart its joyousness 
With the wings of Time hath sped. 

Laugh on! while thy sunny, smiling brows, 

Are untouched by earthly cares ; 
Ere thy spirit's innate buoyancy, 

A sraver aspect w^ears. 
Laugh on ! there 's nought like childhood's power, 

To kindle deep emotion ; 
For childhood's memories lie hid, 

Like pearls within the ocean. 



THE DEPARTURE. 

The canvas is spread and the anchor is weighed 
The time of departure quite long hath been sta.d 
The breeze freshens up, while the waters are hrgb. 
The sun in his splendor illumines the sky ; 
The pure breath of ocean I long to mha e, 
Fre nifrht throws its shadows around us \ saU. 
As onward 1 speed o'er the ocean's wide breast, 
The" pleasures of memory" will be my lone guest. 



POEMS. 143 

I '11 think of the loved ones, the absent and good, 
That long on the shrine of affection hath stood ; 
May the richest of blessings descend from above, 
Enfolding them all in the mantle of love. 
The ropes they are coiling, the proud swelling sail, 
Is flapping impatiently in the fresh gale ; 
The pennant is streaming aloft in the air, 
All ready the vessel's despatches to bear. 
The ocean I love, and 'tis rapture to me, 
To bound over the crest of the sparkling sea. 
The music of waters, the low murmur nighj 
Falls sweet on my ear as the summer wind's sigh. 
I go, and forever may happiness dwell, 
Among thee, and with thee, and now fare thee 
well. 



